


Sanguinary Tones

by helens78, valuna



Category: Actor RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-12-09
Updated: 2005-05-15
Packaged: 2017-11-19 23:24:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 34,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/578777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helens78/pseuds/helens78, https://archiveofourown.org/users/valuna/pseuds/valuna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A vampire series cowritten with Luna.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Just A Taste

**Author's Note:**

> This series was cowritten with [Luna](http://ao3.org/users/valuna), who passed away in March 2010, and is greatly missed.

Pierce is hungry, has been looking at the men he meets as though they're all his personal buffet. And then there's that man in the sweater and jeans, thumbing through the used vinyl at the record store, and Pierce can scent him all the way from the other end of the room. He smells like... mm. Cinnamon. And ashes? How interesting. He smells like velvet, cinnamon, ash, sunlight. _If you smell this good from here, how will you smell up close? How would you taste?_

Peter looks up, glances at the man on the other side of the albums. _Don't stare. You're not that desperate._ But he can't help it. There's something about him. Tall. Dark. Handsome. Peter offers a quick smile, goes back to sorting through the '80s British tracks. _Don't need to pick up strangers, boy. It's just stupid._

The smile, that's encouraging. Pierce starts working his way down the racks, thumbing through things he's not really all that interested in, not really caring whether he's in the New Age section or the Jazz and Blues section, so long as it puts him across the racks from the other man.

And then he's right there. Pierce's senses are overloading. "Hi," he says.

There's no ignoring the greeting. He couldn't, if he wanted. Man's standing right across from him.

"Hi," Peter says, glancing up. "What's your taste?"

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. All you had to do was say hello. You didn't have to start a conversation._

"Varied," Pierce says, grinning ear to ear now. _Interested. I think this one's interested. So far so good._ "Jazz, blues, blues-rock, '80s rock and new wave, the occasional spot of techno. What's yours?"

"Stuck mostly in the '80s, big on the Brits," Peter says, lifting an original copy of the Rats' _Fine Art of Surfacing_. "Still own a turntable, even."

"Are you after warmth or nostalgia with it?" Pierce asks. Peter looks a little young for nostalgia when it comes to vinyl, really, but then Pierce has nostalgia when it comes to things he was a bit too young to experience. _It's not about the numbers,_ he reminds himself.

"Bit of both. Saw this group perform, not when the album was new, but later." Peter keeps the vinyl, adds it to a growing stack that's covering the rap section next to him. "CDs are nice, but nothing's quite like vinyl." _Why are you doing this? You so don't need a new complication._ He smiles and goes back to flipping through albums, eyes cast down again.

"Listen..." Pierce comes around the corner, joins Peter in the brit-rock vinyl section. "Can I buy you lunch?" Not at all the usual offer Pierce makes, but as far as he can tell, Peter hasn't noticed the fangs yet.

_Where'd you come from? You were just there. And now here._ Peter's startled. Shouldn't be. Is. By the man _and_ the offer. "Lunch?" He pushes up his sweater sleeve, glances at his watch. "Oh, wow, didn't realize it was that late. Okay." _Why are you accepting?_ "Uh, sure, lunch would be nice."

"I can wait 'til you're done," Pierce says, grinning all over again. "Pizza and beer sound all right? I can do something more elaborate if you'd rather."

"Pizza's fi-" Peter stops, catches the grin, the flash of, _no, not, oh_ , fang. What the fuck has he stepped into? "That's good. And I'm done here." He pulls the stack of albums up and to his chest. "I come 'round once a week anyway."

Pierce takes a quick step back, looking a little chagrined. _Noticed that time._ "I, ah." He opens his mouth, deliberately, shows off the razor-sharp points. "If you're not interested, it's all right."

"No. Don't." C'mon, Wingfield, don't freak. "It's cool. Really. I'm not," he loses his word, clutches the albums. "Let me get these and I'll meet ya outside. That work?"

"That works," Pierce says, _and if you end up wanting to bolt it's a good out._ He's nervous all over again -- hopeful but damned nervous, and he steps outside, jams his hands into his pockets as he waits.

Peter has no plans on bolting, but he needs a minute to compose himself. Vampire. Oh, right, everyday thing. Of course. He pulls out the crumple of cash from his pocket, pays for the albums and takes the bag. _You can do this. Just another ... uh, vampire._ He steps outside, finds Pierce waiting for him.

"Lunch," he says, stepping in front of his new acquaintance. "You promised pizza and beer."

"I did," Pierce agrees. "This way."

There's a place not far away that has excellent pizza and a good selection of beer; it's easily within walking distance, so Pierce steers them off that way. _Gods, I wish I were better at small talk. Can't very well just ask if he'd like me to bite him._

"So," he settles on, "what do you do when you're not record-shopping?"

"I'm an archivist," Peter says, putting himself in step with Pierce's long stride. "At the university. Do you do anything? Besides," he catches himself, "um, have a job?"

"Besides biting people?" Pierce asks, unable to help the grin. And he's not trying to show off the fangs. God, he's really going to have to learn to stop grinning this way. "I'm an artist. Well... commercial artist, I design graphics, make ad layouts." He shrugs. "Not very exciting, especially compared to biting people. But most of us can't make a living off that."

"No, I imagine it's not that lucrative a business." Peter smiles, just as broadly, no fangs though. "Biting people would be more interesting, too, I imagine. Haven't done it."

"On the biting end or the end being bitten?" Pierce rubs a hand over his cheek, looking embarrassed all over again. "I'm sorry, that's probably much too personal for a first, um, for pizza and beer."

"I put you on the spot. That wasn't fair." Peter bites his lower lip. "Maybe it's better conversation for after the pizza and beer." _Oh, yeah, Wingfield, like that wasn't a come-on._

_After._ That's a word that gets Pierce's attention, and now he's far less interested in lunch. Still, even with the awkward pauses there's something very charming in getting to talk to this man, getting to watch him drink and listen to him laugh, and Pierce is damn glad he started up a conversation in the record shop.

Peter opts out of his usual choice -- double pepperoni, Italian sausage and triple garlic -- in lieu of letting his vampire host make the decision. He's familiar with vampires, the mythos at least, from an academic setting, but hasn't ever met one. Well, not that he knows. And definitely not this close. He's finding it utterly not uncomfortable.

"You live here long?" He stops short of asking _all your life_ , but curious about what the answer to that might be. Studying Pierce's face, he'd guess they were the same age, roughly, if Pierce were human.

"Ah, about twenty years, give or take," Pierce answers. "Before here it was a lot of travelling. The States for a while. I grew up in Ireland." There are probably more questions than answers in what he's saying, and he wonders how far Peter's curiosity extends. _Do you want to know where I first got bitten? How old I am? How old I was then?_

"Am I being too curious?" Peter feels an overwhelming need to apologize. Again. "Occupational hazard. I'm a knowledge junkie."

"I don't mind," Pierce says. "I'm not terribly close-lipped." _I'd answer nearly anything you asked as long as it meant you were going to keep talking to me._ "There are some things I probably won't answer until _after_ pizza," and it's starting to seem like after is a likelihood and not just a possibility, "but I don't mind you asking anything."

"I'd be careful. I'll probably drive you insane with questions," Peter says, working his way through another slice of pizza. "Keep you up all night. I'm insatiable that way, wanting to know things."

"If that's an offer, you're on," Pierce says. _Oh, help. You've got to stop arching your neck that way._ The pizza's good, hot, spicy enough, but there's no substitute for blood, and Pierce can almost _hear_ Peter's pulse tripping in his throat. He shifts a little, trying to get more comfortable in the booth. Hopefully they'll move to a conversation topic less likely to make standing up an embarrassing experience. Sooner or later. Right.

"It's an offer. Conversation." Maybe more. Peter doesn't blush by nature, but he suspects Pierce could cause it, if he keeps smiling _that_ way. He wonders if it'd be way too forward to ask who lives closer.

"A round of twenty questions?" Pierce suggests, grinning. "Innocent questions while we're here; more personal ones after." His flat's another eight blocks off. He wonders if Peter's is just as close, or if it'd take a cab ride to get there.

"Innocent questions now. Okay." Peter takes a couple inches off his beer while he thinks. "How old are you? That safe enough in public?"

"Safe enough," Pierce says. "I'm eighty-one. Eighty-two next May." He smiles. "I hope you don't mind older men."

And he kicks himself mentally -- _cart before horse, Brosnan_.

Eighty-one. Looks damned good for it. "No, I don't." Peter makes the admission before he realizes he's really committing to something. "But it depends on what the older man has in mind." There he goes, wanting to blush again. Managing not to.

"That's one of the questions that probably ought to wait for the afterwards session," Pierce says. Not blushing, not hiding, and definitely not running his tongue over his fangs, although the temptation's there.

"Alright. Safer questions. Favorite color? Like movies? Best thing to come out of Britain since the Beatles?" Peter grins. "Provided you think the Beatles were a worthwhile export."

"Favorite color. I suppose I can't say plaid? I like green." Like Peter's eyes. "Movies. I like classics, I like spy thrillers. I like explosions. I avoid romantic comedies." The last one's tough. "Best thing since the Beatles. That's harder. And yes, I think the Beatles were a worthwhile export. Was always more fond of the Who, though."

Man after his heart. "Definitely, Who's better than Beatles. No contest. Plus you've got to factor in people like Geldof and Bono and," Peter stops when he realizes Pierce is just staring, hanging on every word. "Uh, best not to get me started on music. And you're behind three questions."

"Three or four?" Pierce asks. "Do you read? Like to travel? Ever wonder what you'd do if you got three wishes from a genie?"

"Read for a living so it's not much fun as a hobby. Love to travel. Do that with the job, too. Not as much as I'd like." Peter picks up his bottle, drains the better part of the remainder of his beer, then picks at the label. "Three wishes. Yeah, I've thought about it. Long enough life to do what I want to do. Someone to share the conversations with." Like now, this one. "And to always have my loafers broken in when I put on a new pair."

There are several different phrases starting with _I really..._ fighting to move from brain to lips. _I really like you, so far._ And _I really want to get you home._ And then there's _I really didn't expect to like the conversation so much._ Or _I really didn't need to find you this charming._

"Comfortable shoes make for a good wish," Pierce says softly. "How long's _long enough_?"

"Don't know. Haven't figured out what all it is I want to do." _Other than you. Can we go home?_ Peter thinks, but doesn't say, another half dozen phrases, all starting with _I shouldn't but I really want ..._ and he manages to get out finally, "Quid pro quo. What would you wish for?"

"Never to go hungry. Enough paint to keep me busy for a year, and enough money not to starve or go broke while I do it." Pierce fidgets in his chair; that first one's similar to something a human might say, but he doesn't mean the same thing by it, and of course that's obvious.

It's out before Peter can jerk the words back. "Not wealthy, but I can keep you from being hungry." He sits back, startled at his own, sudden offer. "Um, are we finished with dinner?"

"Yes," Pierce answers, and at this point he doesn't care that he sounds as eager as a newly-sired virgin about to sink teeth in for the first time. "I, ah, God. I live eight blocks from here. You?"

"I'm only five." Peter does a quick mental check. Yeah, flat's clean. We're safe. "Closer. And I've got more of this stuff," he says, shaking the dregs of the beer around in the bottom of the bottle.

"Sounds perfect." Pierce digs for his wallet, makes a mental estimate, tucks cash under his bottle and probably overtips, but he doesn't want to wait for the check. "Would it be rushing things to say now sounds perfect, too?"

"No. It wouldn't be." Peter's already gathering up his bag and standing up. "And soon as we're on the street, we can ask those personal questions."

"That should make walking more interesting," Pierce murmurs, wryness all over his expression. But he flashes another grin at Peter, over his shoulder as he heads for the door, and as soon as they're out on the street and Peter's started them off in the right direction, Pierce asks, "Have you ever done this before? Taken one of us home."

"Never met one of you before, not that I know," Peter says, setting a leisurely brisk pace Would be rude to seem too eager. Wouldn't it? "Not in the habit of taking people home at all."

"Then I'm flattered," Pierce says, easily keeping up. Every bit as eager, and as eager not to appear so. "I don't do this very often, either, if you were curious."

"Always with guys?" Okay, that was definitely personal. Conversation veering, Peter thinks, shifting his bag to the other arm for a few minutes.

If biting at his lips weren't dangerous -- and a habit he's trained himself out of over the last forty-some years -- he'd be doing it now. "Mm-hm," Pierce says, looking down at the pavement for a moment before glancing up at Peter. "Which is easier now than it was in the forties, I have to say."

Peter laughs, catching himself in the wry chortle stage. "I imagine so. Was hard enough for me in the '80s." An admission without coming right out and saying it. Good one, Wingfield. "Do you bite all of them? The ones you take home."

"Not everyone," Pierce murmurs. "Some of them don't ask. And then there are ones I take home but the chemistry's not right when the lights are low and clothes are off. Men who are good in bed but not ones I'd want to--" _don't be graphic, Brosnan_ "--nibble at."

They round another corner, and now it's just another block till they'll be at the house. "Ask. Do I have to ask to be bitten?"

Pierce almost trips over his own feet. "Not in so many words, but I don't take what isn't offered." He swallows. "How much further...?"

"Just ahead. House is second on right after we cross this street," Peter murmurs, thinking it seems another mile away. _What are you offering?_

Second on the right. It would probably be rude to throw Peter over a shoulder and double-time it there. Politeness seems overrated at times. But it's just a matter of putting one foot in front of the next and thinking about what happens once they're inside. Once the door closes.

Peter finds himself speeding up, just a touch. No, not eager, not at all. He cuts into the driveway. House is simple, brick bungalow, tucked in behind a cottage garden front lawn. He's digging in his pocket for his keys, headed to the front porch. "Uh, house isn't exactly pristine," he says, suddenly feeling the need to apologize in advance for not having a housekeeper, not living like a king. The key's in the deadbolt and he's turning, nudging the door open with his knee.

"Are there flat surfaces? I'd settle for a bare spot of wall," Pierce says, following in close behind and barely waiting for Peter to get his key out of the door before kicking it shut behind them.

"Flat surfaces? Wall. Lots of 'em." Peter drops his back in the vicinity of a chair, tosses his keys after it. "Bed even. Just down the hall." He turns back to Pierce. "There's always the floor, too."

"Any of them. All of them." Pierce reaches forward, catches handfuls of knitted fabric. "Can I kiss you?"

"Yes." Peter's hands find a hold on Pierce's hips. God, they _need_ a hold. He thinks he might fall over. Or, worse, wake up. "Please do."

Pierce almost does something undignified like whimper when Peter touches him for the first time. It's all he can do to keep himself upright, and he has to remind himself that Peter's never brought one of _them_ home before. "Be careful," he says, parting his lips and trailing his tongue over his fangs. "They're sharp." Probably went without saying. "If we kiss too hard, you'll end up bloody and that'll be beyond distracting for me. I won't lose control and start drinking, but I might come in my pants." Pierce is _mortified_ by that last, but it's better to warn Peter now, just in case.

"S'alright," Peter says, calm voice belieing the intense anxiety. He's never wanted anything, anyone, with quite this much passion. And he's scared to death. Of what? He tentatively leans in, slides his tongue along Pierce's lip, experimentally slipping its edge across the tip of fang. Sharp, yes. He pulls back, just far enough to have voice to whisper. "Kiss me. Please."

Pierce slides his tongue forward in return, licking over Peter's lips, the flavor more overwhelming than the scent. There's the salty hint of pizza and the bitter taste from the beer, but under all of that is something deep and unique, all the different things Pierce could smell on Peter when he first took notice of him, and the _feel_ of him against Pierce's body is mind-blowing. It's an easy kiss, gentle, licking into the corners of Peter's mouth, meant to taste every inch of him.

It's a good kiss, easy and soft, not frightening at all, and any fears Peter had lingering melt in the swipe of Pierce's tongue. He licks in kind, tasting, momentarily startled by the taste of blood -- no, not taste, his mind registers, a feel, a sensation, a singing almost -- and the twist of musk over salt, something old yet strangely familiar.

Pierce is caught breathless by the warmth in the kiss, the openness, how much it's a give-and-take, mutual exploration. The floor's not going to do; the wall's sounding less appealing, too. Much as he'd love to be buried in Peter and scraping his fangs over Peter's shoulder, he doesn't want to miss out on the foreplay this time.

The foreplay's incredible, intense, and leaves Peter wondering how the rest of it could get any better, or if he would survive it. But he's willing to try. He pulls back, needing to catch his breath. "Bed's not far," he murmurs, "just a few steps."

"Show me?" Pierce asks, uncurling his hands from Peter's sweater and taking a breath to steady himself. "And give me a minute; you're making me dizzy. In all the best ways."

"Sorry." The words take Peter by surprise. He's making Pierce dizzy. "Can I get you something to drink? Water, wine." He leaves off the _me_ curling his tongue as he slides his hand over Pierce's arm.

"Just you," Pierce says, turning his hand, running his fingers along Peter's forearm. "You and bed and I'll try to contain myself."

"Just me. Alright." Peter takes in a breath, commits himself the final step, and takes Pierce's bed, walking backward toward the hall. It's familiar and he can keep his eyes on Pierce as he moves them to the bedroom. "Why should you contain yourself? I won't break."

"I was thinking more along the lines of not completely embarrassing myself on a first date," Pierce murmurs, letting Peter draw him along. Another vampire might hear words like _I won't break_ from a mortal and consider it an immediate challenge; Pierce is more interested in all the nuances, where they're likely to bend around each other to find just the right fit.

"I can't imagine what you'd do to embarrass yourself," Peter says, stepping right to avoid the table and then sliding past the bathroom door. "You're being the perfect gentleman." Peter wants to tell Pierce he doesn't have to be, that he's done this before, well at least the sex part of _this_. "Bedroom." He leans back agains the doorjamb. "Not spectacular, but comfortable."

"Are you feeling comfortable?" Pierce asks, coming close all over again, pressing his body up to Peter's and catching his wrists. He licks up the side of Peter's neck, sucking at the pulse point, tongue tracing paths up and down as he listens to Peter's heartbeat. It would be so easy. Just a quick bite, a small lick, the rich taste of Peter's blood filling his mouth... Pierce groans, presses his cock harder into Peter's thigh. "I'm aching too much to be comfortable."

"No, I'm not comfortable." Peter's breaths come more ragged as Pierce touches again, licks, whispers. "I want you. Taking me in every way you can."

" _Yes._ " Pierce slides a hand into Peter's hair, tilts his head back and holds him steady against the wall while he licks again, makes love to Peter's throat and rubs cock against cock through too many layers of fabric.

Peter yields, his body relaxing into the plaster at his back, held tightly by Pierce's body, head tilting and mind reeling. And he can feel it again, what was there in that kiss, the blood rushing, singing to him, flooding his brain. "Yes," he murmurs, a single syllable drawn out into thousands of whimpering acquiesences.

That one word cuts through the rest of Pierce's ability to hold back. _Yes._ The timbre of it says yes to so many different things that Pierce isn't going to second-guess himself. He lets his fangs prick the side of Peter's neck, just scratching him, barely drawing a drop of blood. But it's enough to make him shudder hard. Enough for him to taste all the things he's been scenting all afternoon. Ash and sunlight, cinnamon, age, youth, _time_.

God. It's like tasting time.

Blood. His. Just a drop. He's spiraling, caught in Pierce's arms, Pierce's embrace, everything there is about the man -- no, vampire, _undead immortal_ \-- licking at his throat. His cock is hard, steel on glass, and he's aching with an intensity he's never felt. "More," he whispers, almost too soft to be heard. "Want. Take."

"Bed," Pierce whispers. "And out of all these clothes." He comes off the wall, pulls Peter with him. "You taste amazing."

"Thanks." It seems an odd thing to say, but it's all Peter can manage. He walks into the bedroom, holding onto Pierce's hand until his lover lets go, then he's standing in his room, middle of the afternoon, thinking about undressing for a vampire. No, not thinking. Doing.

Peter's hands go slowly to the hem of his sweater, roll it up over his chest until he's stretching his arms and working it over his head. He tosses it to the chair in the corner, then kicks off his loafers. He blushes, just the faintest shade of red. He's been with men before. Stripped for them. It's just ... he looks down, works at the buttons on his jeans.

Ordinarily, Pierce would be stripping off as Peter does. And if there's a next time, he'll do it that way then, but right now he's watching because he doesn't want to miss an inch of this. He doesn't want to miss that first glimpse of bare skin, the color coming up in Peter's cheeks, the way muscles tighten and move. He's moving out of attraction and into outright fascination.

But then Peter's tugging at his buttons and Pierce is starting to feel like a voyeur, and he unbuttons his shirt, goes to one knee to get out of shoes and socks... wonders if he ought to stay on his knees, if Peter would be willing to let a man with fangs give him head. He grins widely at the thought.

Peter fumbles, but finally gets his jeans unbuttoned and starts pushing the denim down his hips, but then he's caught by the sight of Pierce on his knee. It's entrancing. Not because he's on his knees, but because it seems so naturally elegant. Everything about Pierce is elegant, gallant, almost otherworldly, or rather old-worldly, a time gone by. He slowly continues shoving the jeans down his legs, pushing them off and nudging them across the floor.

And then he's naked, and suddenly the room's hot, way too hot for this time of year, and he's dizzy. No, it's not the musk and copper tinging the air. Or the man still on his knees in front of Peter. "You're beautiful," Peter murmurs. "Is it alright to tell you that?"

"It's more than all right," Pierce murmurs, crawling close enough to touch. Close enough to draw his hands up the backs of Peter's legs, from ankles to thighs, and close enough to press a kiss to his hip. "So are you."

"Oh, Christ. What?" Peter goes weak at the touch. But it's the kiss that does him in, sends a shiver up his body, one that lodges in his brain, chills him to the core and then sets off a tinder box. He's never, not once in a lifetime, had that experience.

Pierce laughs softly, kissing his way over Peter's hip, down the crease of his thigh. "I said you're beautiful," he murmurs. "Do you trust me?"

"Trust you?" _Shouldn't. No reason to._ "Yes." _Oh, fuck, why?_ "Trust you." _Wingfield, you're insane. Trusting a vampire whose name you don't even know._

"Good," Pierce murmurs, slipping his tongue out between his lips and running it up the underside of Peter's cock. "Don't worry. Wouldn't bite here." _Not on a first date._ He opens his mouth wider, sucks the head of Peter's cock between his lips, being careful of his fangs.

There's a comfort in Pierce's words. Underlaid with a bit of disappointment. _Gods, get yourself together. He's a fuckin' vampire. He could have you for dinner and breakfast._ Peter lays his hands on Pierce's shoulder, shifts his feet to spread his legs, better distribute his weight before he loses his balance. "Not worried," he whispers.

_No?_ Pierce slides his mouth further and further down, then pulls back, fangs at either side of Peter's cock, lips parted just enough to let Peter see it.

Okay, so he lied. He's nervous. And the flash of fang that close to his cock shivers him again, and kindles that damned fire. He should _not_ be this turned on by the notion of a vampire giving him head. Peter rubs his fingers into Pierce's shoulder, kneadings that start out gentle and deepen as Pierce continues to lick and tease.

Oh, and _damn_ does that feel good; Pierce moans around the head of Peter's cock as he starts working his way down again. Peter tastes so good, and Pierce loves having his mouth filled this way, loves tasting a lover's cock for the first time, sliding his tongue over every inch of him and feeling hard flesh between his fangs. And if it's this good already, he can't imagine how it's going to feel when his cock's sinking deep and his fangs are piercing through skin.

It does feel good. Too good. Peter's fighting against pushing, demanding more. _Fangs, for Christ's sake, Wingfield. Let the vampire set the pace._ He slides his fingers into the edge of Pierce's hair, just stroking, not tangling, not begging for more. Well, not much. "Please," he says, unable to keep silent, "want it all."

Pierce licks his way back off Peter's cock, nips with teeth only at the edge of Peter's foreskin. He comes to his feet, unnaturally graceful glide upwards, and digs his fingers into Peter's hips to draw him forward. "Want everything," Pierce whispers. "All at once."

"You move," Peter says, mindless for the moment, "like you don't move. Overwhelming." He draws in a breath at the dig of fingers, knowing he'll bruise, how easily he'll bruise with every touch. "Bed. Fuck me?"

"Yes." Pierce grins, tongue sliding over his fangs again, and he's rapidly losing his ability to be the perfect gentleman, especially when bed's so close and he wants Peter there _now_. He manages to resist the urge to throw Peter over his shoulder and carry him the two steps over, but he catches Peter's wrists and pushes him, inexorable move forward that has them both tumbling onto the bed in instants.

Peter tumbles back, twisting his hands enough to pull Pierce with him, on top of him, and then they're stretched out on the bed, point-to-point touching, cocks rubbing together. It's perfect. Nearly.

"How much will you take?" Peter asks, words whispered on the end of a kiss. "When you bite." No if or maybe, but when, a certainty of what's going to happen.

_Oh, God._ Pierce shivers all over, runs his hands over Peter's arms, down his sides, unable to get close enough. "A pint, more or less. Not enough you'll miss it too badly." How long has it been since he's felt so _hungry_? Maybe it's the anticipation, knowing it's going to happen but waiting for the perfect moment.

"A pint. That's not much at all." He can lose a pint of blood without any harm. Peter's shivering again. "Your blood. It's singing. Is that normal?"

"Perfectly," Pierce says, "but the fact that you can hear it... That's more rare." He grins.

"It's ... wait, I'm not supposed to hear it?" Peter's confused, the sound in his brain intoxicating. "Why? Can you make it stop?"

"Not until I'm sated." Pierce runs his hands up Peter's arms. _Do you know how beautiful you are?_ Maybe he does think that about most of the men he's fed from, but one can hardly blame him.

"Then, please, take what you need. It's growing worse by the minute," Peter says. "Or better." It's confounding, the sensory tingle becomes an implosion with every new touch of Pierce's fingers. He feels like a junkie must, shaking from the inside out, wanting the fix.

"Lube. God. Want to be inside you when I bite." Pierce glances up at the nightstands. "Where?"

"Drawer. Right side." Peter's thoughts are coming rushed, the need cascading, water freefalling over the longest drop he can imagine. His breaths go ragged as he fights to control the urge -- _To what? Bite? It makes no sense._

Pierce scrambles for it, moves at full speed so he's there and back with barely a whisper of air to mark his absence. Even the way Peter's breathing sounds seductive, and Pierce highly doubts that's intentional. He slicks his fingers, slides them in, groans at the warmth of Peter's body clenching around him. He's so hard it hurts, and he has to remind himself he doesn't want to hurt Peter. _Take it easy. All the time in the world._

No, there's not all the time in the world. Time is fleeting, pulling itself from under Peter's control, his sensibilities reeling. He slides his hands back over his head, under the edges of the pillow, grasping for the wooden dowels he knows make up his headboard, finding some leverage to push against Pierce's fingers, drive them deeper.

Pierce isn't going to say _patience_. There's no such thing as patience for a bloodvirgin, and he doesn't want to wait any longer than he has to, either. Another palmful of lube slicked over his cock, and he's pressing Peter's legs apart, lining up and bracing himself so he can look down into Peter's eyes for the first deep, slow thrust in.

Peter doesn't break the stare. He needs Pierce's eyes, the reflection there, to ground him, carry him through the shivering. "Oh, God, yes," he's hissing out words as Pierce fills his body, jerking with trying to adjust, make himself open more, accommodate his vampire lover.

More. Just a little more. Just a little harder... _there_ , oh God, sinking to the root and filling Peter completely. Pierce leans down, kisses Peter again, and this time he's nowhere near as careful; fangs scrape against lips and tongue, not drawing blood but coming damned close.

It''d be easy to push up, force the fangs to draw the blood, and Peter wants that, more than anything else at the moment. Well, except maybe Pierce's cock buried even deeper in his arse. But he doesn't think that's possible as he feels split apart already. "Please," he begs. "Make it sing more. Stop it."

"Ah -- _fuck_ ," Pierce pants, slamming his mouth down against Peter's again and slicing into his lower lip, blood filling his mouth and heating him from the inside out. The taste of him has Pierce so closer to the edge that he could go over any moment, and with his cock pounding in so hard he's afraid he might break the goddamned bed, he knows he's not going to last much longer.

There's a crescendo, blood singing to bring down his soul, body yielding to Pierce's every move, opening wider, taking more, giving up everything. Peter's hands are wrapped around the bedpost, clutching and imprinting. He screams, the shout muffled in Pierce's kiss, flooding out on his own blood into his lover's mouth.

Peter's heartbeat seems louder with every passing second. Pierce smears kisses over Peter's jaw, down the side of his throat, and then his fangs are _there_ , the perfect spot, blood practically begging to be let out, and the anticipation's killing Pierce but he needs the perfect moment, needs to feel Peter's climax _right there_ , close enough to taste, before he can sink his fangs in.

Peter's not even trying to hold back. There's no use. Pierce is dragging him to the edge, throwing him off the precipice and there's nothing under him except air. He's falling, drowning in the cacophony of blood, crying voices and -- "please, so close, want" -- there's nothing but Pierce's touch, the promise of a gift to be taken.

One moment's quick reflection, a silent offering of thanks, and then Pierce presses his fangs in -- slow, easy, pressing down steadily until flesh parts to make way for him and the blood starts flowing, hot and silent. And _oh, fuck_ , at moments like this Pierce thinks his fangs are the most sensitive part of his body, the rush of blood past them making him ache all over, the taste filling his senses, and _God, yes_ , it's not just a taste this time, it's enough blood to drink, enough to take into his body, swallow down in slow, thirsty gulps as his cock matches the rhythm of Peter's heartbeat. And somewhere along the way, completely lost between thrusts forward and swallows down, he's coming, cock pulsing into Peter's body as he licks up blood from the side of Peter's neck.

The press of fang into flesh is all it takes, the final trigger for Peter's orgasm, and he comes. Not violent. Not rushed. Just comes. Almost not realizing it, the caress of Pierce's mouth overwhelming his senses. The song has a voice now, not just sound, and it's Pierce whispering through Peter's body, claiming and taking possession.

_Mine._ The thought's fierce, and Pierce forces himself to let it ease off. One afternoon's chemistry does _not_ mean Peter wants to be Pierce's pet, and addiction's a tricky thing, not something to inflict on a lover without his knowledge. Well, not something _Pierce_ would inflict on a lover without his knowledge.

Peter's beyond coherent thought. Doesn't even attempt it. Can't fathom the depths his soul is sinking to, what it means. Now. Later. He'll process it, but at the moment he doesn't want Pierce to let go, Not until Peter's drained of corpuscle if need be, just not to let the symphony stop playing.

Pierce curls up at Peter's side, licking bloodstained lips and sighing softly. "Are you warm enough?" he murmurs. He's not expecting Peter to answer, really; he pulls the sheets up to waist level and squirms close again.

The answer comes in a shake of Peter's head, silent and welcoming the cover. Then there's a sigh as the song dissipates, echoes on the shivers of his body. He wants to say thanks, but isn't sure what to be thankful for. The intensity. The aching. The craving he's left with. So he just tucks himself in against Pierce's body.

When Peter's come down a bit and Pierce isn't feeling quite so lethargic and sated, Pierce will get himself out of bed and find Peter some juice, something to snack on. Loss of blood's easier when the one taking it takes some care afterward. But not right now. Right now Pierce is glad to rest, and enjoy the full, warm sensation of stolen blood running through his veins.

"Should I feel this strange?" Peter murmurs, finding his voice after long silence. He knows the blood loss would leave him woozy, out of sorts, but what he's feeling is deeper than that, like there's a need he can't put his finger on.

"Mmhh..." It takes a few seconds for Pierce to force his lips to form words. "How strange?" he manages.

"I've given blood before. Wasn't like this. There's a song in my head. No words that I know. And I didn't want you to stop because the song would stop and," Peter pauses, "and, now, there's a craving, a tugging in my brain, my chest, for you not to leave."

"That's..." That's perfectly normal. Not unusual at all. _Except I didn't bite that into you. Did I?_ "It's all right," Pierce says. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Good. I'd like you to stay," Peter says, suddenly realizing he doesn't even know his vampire lover's name. "Uh, what do I call you?"

Pierce blinks, still wondering _Did I do something to you I don't remember?_ before he realizes Peter's asking after his name. "Pierce," he says softly, "my name's Pierce. What's yours?"

"Peter." He's concerned about the look on Pierce's face. "Have I done something wrong?"

"No. No, not at all." Pierce shakes his head. "Maybe we ought to... get some sleep?"

"Sleep. Yes." Peter curls into Pierce's body even more, as close as he can get. He's too tired to argue, even if his body feels depleted. Sleep will help, he's sure of it. And everything will be right in the morning.


	2. Just A Taste

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Luna: A praetern is a human whose bloodline was tainted at some point by a vampire who bit and fed a psychically enhanced human (witch/warlock), keeping him/her as a pet but not turning.

This would be so much easier if they'd ended up at Pierce's house instead of Peter's, but one does what one must, and Pierce really can't afford to put this off. He leaves Peter in bed, takes a fast shower, and then kneels in the center of the bathroom floor with steam all around him, cellphone tugged out of his pocket and set to speakerphone before he dials.

He dials the first number on his speedlist, and as the phone rings, settles down on his knees with his hands laced at the small of his back, head bent forward, naked and waiting.

It's really not a good time for a phone call. Jonny looks up from the throat he's biting, tugs the cell phone from his pocket and checks the caller ID. Pierce. Oh, it's definitely not a good time for a phone call.

He drops the frat boy, though, and flips open the phone. "Don't go anywhere," he says to the dazed sweatshirt-clad boy now on his ass against the wall of the PKA house. He laughs and toggles talk.

"This had better be good, Pierce. You're interrupting breakfast."

"I'm sorry, Sire," Pierce says, wincing. And his voice is echoing off the tiles of Peter's bathroom. That's not going to help his case. "Sire, I think I'm in trouble."

Jonny sighs, not even trying to hide it. Must be good, he thinks, for Pierce to call. Sean's usually the one in trouble. "What happened?"

"I met someone." _Good, now be more specific._ "I met a mortal and we went back to his place and... you know, I really don't _know_ what happened. I didn't do anything. Not on purpose." Jonny always makes Pierce feel sixteen again. It's unsettling as hell. "But he's showing all the signs of a new pet and I swear, I didn't mean to..." He sighs. "I don't know what to do."

Oh, now that is interesting. Jonny reaches down and straightens the boy's drooping head. "Bit longer than I thought. Be back to you, though." He settles on the bed, pushing aside beer cans and homemade bong. "Alright, Pierce, you've turned a pet without trying. Was there anything unusual about this mortal?"

"I presume you're not talking about all the physical features that made me notice him at first. Or the way he smiles when he's talking." Pierce wrinkles his nose at the telephone, uncertain whether modern technology makes these conversations easier or not. On one hand, he doesn't have his sire's actual presence in the room to contend with; on the other, he can't read Jonny's expressions... "He could hear me," Pierce says at last. "He kept saying he could hear my blood singing. _Before_ I bit him."

"He heard your blood singing? Before the bite?" Jonny's expression, if Pierce could see it, would be eyes closing in silent prayer. _Damn, he doesn't have a clue what he's found._ "Pierce, beloved mine, where are you?"

"His place. Bathroom." Pierce unlaces his hands and runs his hands through his hair, laughing softly. "He didn't want me to go. But I had to call. What am I going to do with him?"

"You're going to explain to him what you've done, to start with." Jonny shakes his head. "You do understand what's happening. He's a pet, without having fed from you."

"That's not supposed to happen," Pierce protests. "I didn't intend for it to happen." Though he's starting to feel a little more sympathy for his brother now -- _has this happened to Sean?_ "Can I stop it?"

"No, I imagine you didn't. You're not your brother. You at least explain to mortals what you are before you bite." Jonny has picked up the pieces for years with Sean. Elder brother in age only, Sean has a habit of making pets without telling his lovers until it's too late. "But, no, you can't stop it. I suspect Peter's a praetern."

"He..." Pierce groans and finally comes out of position entirely, switching the phone back to handset and rising to his feet. "I didn't see it," he says. "I should have, though, shouldn't I? Just from the way we got along. I've never clicked that way with anyone before."

"Not necessarily, Pierce." Jonny stretches out on the bed, nudging over his frat breakfast, pushing up the boy's sweatshirt and drawing his nails across the tan flesh, scoring it till there's blood. He rakes his fingers through it and licks them. "They're rare, one in a thousand mortals, and for you to click it has to be someone whose bloodline we've connected with before. Find out more about this mortal. That might give us a better idea of how quickly he's going to spiral down."

 _Spiral down._ That sobers Pierce completely, reminds him he has more -- much more -- to be concerned about now than himself. "You don't think I can stop it," he says. "I'll have to turn him?"

"No, I don't think you can't stop it, Pierce." Jonny's wishing he was with his child, not having this conversation over fiberoptic lines. "Stay with him for the moment, find out what you can. I'll talk with your grandsire and see what he knows."

"All right. Thank you, Sire." Pierce sighs. "Should I call if I find out more, or will you be in touch?"

"Plan on meeting me at the house. Tomorrow night. We can fill each other in." Jonny can hear the frustration in Pierce's voice, the concern. "It will be alright, Pierce. Everything happens for a reason. This mortal has a purpose."

"I didn't want him to have a purpose," Pierce says softly. "I just wanted _him_."

"Perhaps that is his purpose, child, to be wanted." Jonny sucks the last of the blood from his fingers. "You will be fine. Till tomorrow, Pierce." He flips the phone closed and drops it on the bed. "You, however," he says to the boy stretched across the bed, "might not see tomorrow."

Pierce sets the phone down on the counter and glances at himself in the mirror. _Well, at least he isn't angry with me._ He looks at the door and sighs. _Now to find out if Peter's going to be._


	3. Early Morning Revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follows immediately from [When In Doubt](http://www.livejournal.com/users/helens78/236866.html), which in turn followed immediately from [Just A Taste](http://www.livejournal.com/users/helens78/236428.html).

Pierce comes out of the bathroom and slides back into Peter's bed, curling up around him. It's so strange. And so unfamiliar. _Care and feeding of a pet. What on earth do I do now?_

It would help if he'd done this before. He's rather old to be taking his first pet; he should have had a dozen by now. If he were Sean, he'd have burned through a small town's worth.

 _He just feels so good. Do they all feel like this?_ Pierce wonders. There's a strange feeling, an echo almost, and it makes him feel warm and content and just has him wanting to nuzzle into the back of Peter's neck and stay here. Just like this. All night and all day again until one of them gets hungry.

Peter's dreaming. The world's red, coral bleeding into titian, and there's a fire on the horizon. It's Dali and David Lynch swirled into one landscape, and Peter's sitting in the middle of it, on the hill, under the tree, Judas tree it is, and there's a symphony surrounding him and they're playing the most brilliant music. It's lucid, too vivid, and the nudge at his back seems so real. It has to be real.

Pierce's tongue starts swirling patterns over Peter's shoulder. _Beautiful._ He's had lovers before. He's had lovers he's fed from. But he's never had a pet, and Peter's scent is quickly becoming intoxicating. _No wonder we take pets. If they all smell like this, feel like this..._ His cock's hard and getting harder, and he shifts his hips against Peter's arse, sighing softly.

The nudging becomes insistent, creeping into Peter's dream until he can't ignore it. He turns, rolling back into Pierce's body, moaning as the symphony stops playing and the color washed out of his dreamscape. "Ngh, mmm," he mutters, "don't wanna wake up."

"Sshh. Still here," Pierce whispers, rubbing at Peter's chest in slow, small circles. "It's me. Come back to me."

Coming back's a slow process, Peter shifting and stirring at the rubbing. He opens his eyes. Familiar smile. "I was dreaming," he says, "and you're here, so maybe I wasn't dreaming."

"Good dreams?" Pierce asks, curious; he has no idea how dreams change when a human's taken as a pet.

"No. Not bad either. Just." Peter pauses. "Dreams. Colors and images and so much music. And everything was so hot, but it felt good."

Pierce nods, taking a deep breath. Peter needs to know what's happening. "Do you know anything about vampires' pets?"

"Pets?" Peter doesn't think Pierce is talking about bats, or even dogs and cats. "No."

For an insane moment, it feels like he's about to give the classic "birds and the bees" speech, but then reason takes hold and Pierce starts at the beginning. "It's always been important for us to have willing people around to give blood. I'm not sure where the practice developed, but vampires are capable of -- essentially creating an addiction in a human, a need to be fed on that's nearly as strong as a need to feed. Pets don't age and they don't grow ill, but they do need to have blood taken or they start feeling withdrawal symptoms." Oh, God. Oh, God, it sounds so bad put that way, and how on Earth is Pierce going to explain that he didn't mean to do this to Peter?

"I'm ..." Peter stops before he gets started with the thought. He doesn't know what he is. Confused. _Why are we talking about pets? I didn't taste his blood._ He turns more onto his back. "Pierce, I don't understand at all. Are you asking me if I want that?"

"Would you want it?" Pierce asks quietly, running his hand over Peter's chest.

Almost at Pierce's touch, the music starts again. Faint, distant, an echo of what it was before. "Yes," Peter murmurs, "I think so."

"I think..." Pierce closes his eyes, takes a breath to steady himself. "I think you already have it. I think I turned you without meaning to."

"You what?" Peter thinks he heard the words, but they don't sound right. "I'm a," he falters, "uh, your pet? How?"

"I don't know how. Peter, I would never have done this without asking, not on purpose. I don't know what happened. I'm so sorry--" _Please don't hate me._ "I'll understand if you're angry. I just -- please, it wasn't something I meant to do. Forgive me."

"I'm not angry. I'm confused. No reason to forgive." Peter pauses. "Is there? Is this a bad thing?"

"Not for me. I'd like to think not for you, either. But we didn't talk about this before it happened, and this means -- God, Peter, we just met, and this means making a commitment to each other." Pierce can still feel the connection between them, can still scent Peter, sense the tang of his blood. He cannot _fathom_ how Sean ever lets his pets go. "I took so many choices away from you."

"Commitment? Like in, we live together? Or," Peter doesn't want to think about the other in his brain, "is it more than that? What choices did you take?" He realizes he has nothing but questions, hundreds of them, but all he can focus on is how Pierce's blood is calling him, and he wraps his arms around his new lover. "Want you. That's enough for now."

"I want you, too." Pierce shivers. He can't possibly need to feed again, isn't hungry because his body needs the blood, but all the same, he's aching to taste Peter again.

Peter turns on his side, facing Pierce. "The hunger, is that what I'm feeling? This craving in my chest, the need that's wrapping my brain." He wants to be bitten again, wonders if it's too soon.

"Yes. I feel it, too." Pierce wraps his arm around Peter's back and snugs forward, burying his face in the side of Peter's neck. "Can hardly bear it. Want to taste you. I think I need it."

"Bite. Please?" Peter tilts his neck, exposing his throat. "Want to feel it, fangs sinking in, taking me."

"Just a taste," Pierce murmurs, dipping his head to lick Peter's neck. "Oh, fuck, you taste good. Just a taste. Just enough to... mmm..." He runs his fangs down Peter's neck, scraping back and forth gently, almost caressing him with razor-sharp pinprick points.

It's a whim born of deep-seated craving, and Peter nudges his throat the slightest, forcing Pierce's fangs to break the skin. He sucks in a deep breath, holds it. _Please. Oh, god, please._

Fangs cut through skin and leave a shallow gash, one that Pierce immediately fastens his lips over -- sucking, licking, moaning as he takes the tiny, nearly insignificant trickle past his lips. He's so hard, instantly, that he could come with the faintest touch. The whole world's Peter, his blood and his skin and his body.

"Oh, god, yes," Peter breathes out words, and the song is back, and Peter's suddenly feverish, all over. He clutches at Pierce's waist, holding on against the flood of sensations. _Is this what it is to be a pet? His pet._

Pierce smears one more kiss across the cut and then licks it to seal it off. His lips are bloodstained, and he moves up so Peter can see it, can watch Pierce licking the blood off his lips, off his fangs. "Taste me," he urges.

Peter's uncertain what Pierce means. How much of a taste? He leans in, hesitant, and presses his tongue against Pierce's lips, licking away the remnant of his own blood. "How?" he whispers.

Shivering, Pierce loses his ability to form words, and he covers Peter's mouth with his, tongue stroking deep, rubbing the warmth and flavor of Peter's blood against Peter's tongue, moaning at the feel of Peter's body against his own.

That's almost too much, the warmth overwhelming, and Peter can't do anything more than whimper, return each stroke of tongue with a matching one, beg with body for more, to meld himself into Pierce.

And Pierce doesn't want to wait any longer, didn't even realize he _was_ waiting; he rolls on top of Peter, still kissing him hard, and rubs his cock against Peter's with fast, eager strokes.

Peter pushes up, grinding against Pierce's body, wanting more contact, stroking just as eagerly. _Christ, you're with a vampire. You're a pet now. What the fuck are you doing?_

It's a tight fit, but Pierce manages to get a hand between them, wrapping his fingers around both cocks and stroking. He moans into Peter's mouth, so close -- oh, God, so close it's almost killing him.

The touch burns, as much as the heat from inside Peter's body, and he loses all control, cock leaking and pulsing hard.

The kiss is so good, Peter's eagerness palpable, and then Pierce kisses a little too hard, slicing into Peter's lip and smearing blood across both their mouths.

 _Fuck._ The scream's muted into Pierce's mouth, Peter crying out into the pain, the intense blinding whiteness clouding his vision.

It's too much, the blood and the sound and Peter's body under his, and Pierce comes, gasping as he coats Peter's cock with it.

Peter thinks he's coming, but his mind's too clouded, the symphony's crescendo drowning out everything, the whiteness going black-red. It's all overwhelming.

Utterly perfect. Pierce collapses against Peter's chest and groans. Not enough blood lost to be dangerous, he thinks. "Peter," he murmurs. It's the only word he can form.

"Is it always like this?" Peter's breathless. "The need for sex, for you. From now on?"

"I don't know," Pierce admits. "Maybe it is, and this is why Sean -- well, better not to talk of Sean, maybe." He makes a face. "Or it could be something else... Peter, do you have anything unusual in your family?"

"Unusual. Like schizophrenia or such? 'Cause I'm feeling rather weird."

"No, more like..." Pierce slides off to Peter's side and curls himself around Peter's body. "More like this," he says. "Someone who might have been bitten years back. A grandparent, perhaps?"

"Uh, not that I know of. Never heard of anyone in the family being bitten." Peter wraps himself into Pierce's touch. "But then there are odd people in my family a few generations back. Possible one of 'em was bitten and never said anything."

"Hm." A few generations. Enough time for the mortals to forget, and Pierce wonders if his sire's going to have better luck finding out if someone in the family's had their fangs on the Wingfields in the past. It's possible.

But right now it doesn't seem to matter, not half as much as entwining himself with Peter and exhaling softly against his shoulder. "You feel so good," he murmurs. "I had no idea anything could feel so good." _How does Sean ever let them go?_

"Same here. This seems so natural, so right." Peter's breathing a bit easier, the music gone, his body cooling down. "I think I could get used to being your pet, Pierce."

"I would love to keep you," Pierce admits, so curled up now he almost can't tell where one body starts and the other ends. "I ought to introduce you to the family."

"Family?" It shouldn't surprise Peter there are more like Pierce. He knows enough about vampires to know they exist, they're real and there are more of them than most mortals would like to realize. He's just momentarily dazed by the notion of being _taken home to meet the parents_ and exactly what that entails for vampires. "I guess that's a good idea."

"I'm supposed to go and see my sire tomorrow night," Pierce says. "Would you like to join me?" It suddenly occurs to him that he'd been assuming Peter wouldn't want to go, and that could mean being without him for hours -- surely they'll get to a point when they don't want to be this entangled in each other, but that point isn't now. Pierce snuggles even harder.

"Sire. If you want me to, I'd be happy to join you." Peter wonders if there's an etiquette for meeting a sire. He's pretty sure Emily Post doesn't cover it. But as long as he's with Pierce, it doesn't really matter. And, for the moment, that's all he can think about, _being_ with Pierce. _Forever._

"Then please, I'd like you there." Pierce nuzzles Peter's throat, glad the hunger's sated for now; if he's going to be taking even a small amount of blood from Peter every day -- at least this early on -- better not to overdo it.

"I'll go," Peter says, curling into Pierce's body, "but will you let me sleep now? I'm really rather exhausted again."

"Yes, yes, of course," Pierce says, reaching down and pulling the covers up over both of them. "Sleep," he whispers, "and we'll get you something to eat when you wake up." Pierce could survive just on what he's taken from Peter in the last twenty-four hours, but Peter's still mortal, more or less; he'll need lunch.


	4. The First One's Free

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place a number of years before any of the Pierce/Peter stuff happens.

Eric was at a truck stop the first time he met a vampire in person.

He'd been travelling cross-country for several weeks, exploring the States, and he'd stopped in at the truck stop around eleven o'clock at night to get a shower and a hot meal before camping out in the back of his car for the night. You took your showers where you could on a trip like this.

The vampire in question was an ordinary-looking guy, for the most part. Brown hair, cut neat. Wire-frame glasses. Tan suede jacket, blue jeans. Dark green shirt that made the green of his eyes seem that much more piercing. He looked like he'd be more at home in a library than at a truck stop, but here he was anyway. And Eric couldn't stop looking.

After a while, when the vampire was finished with his waffle -- vampires ate _waffles_? -- Eric watched him stand up, watched him pay his check, and then watched him come right over to Eric's table and take a seat.

"You don't mind, do you?"

Eric couldn't imagine minding. But his mouth was dry and he couldn't seem to get a word out. Up close the vampire was even more attractive, quite the opposite of what Eric was accustomed to. Normally distance was kinder to men than bright light and nearness. This felt as if the distance between them had been there to protect Eric. Keep him from getting in over his head.

"I'm Brian," the vampire said. "What's your name?"

"Eric," Eric managed.

"Eric. You ever talked to a vampire before?"

Eric shook his head. "No."

"Ever been this close to one?"

"No."

The vampire -- Brian -- nodded for a while. "I've got a hotel room," he said. "You want to come back with me?"

It was that easy. Eric wondered why he'd never done this before.

"Yeah."

~*~

Brian's hotel room was spartan, but it had an air of being lived-in. It was in one of those hotel rooms that rented by the week; Eric wondered if Brian actually lived here or if this was just somewhere he took people he was going to...

_Christ._

Eric stood in the doorway until Brian laughed at him and waved him in further. "C'mon," he encouraged, "you didn't come back here to hang out in the entrance. You want a drink?"

"Yeah. No--" Eric paused, wondering if it was a good idea to have alcohol in his system before giving blood. He let out a breath, dug his hands into his pockets. _Liquid courage,_ he decided, and said, "Yeah."

If Brian couldn't read the exact thoughts running through Eric's head, he could certainly see the emotions crossing his face. He grinned, stepping closer. "It's all right," he murmured. "I _do_ bite..." Eric gave a self-conscious grin at that, and Brian reached out, ran his hand down Eric's arm. "But you'll like it."

"I know," Eric whispered. "I don't know why I'm so..."

"Nervous?" Brian asked, catching Eric's hand in his. "Aroused?" His fingertips danced over the skin of Eric's palm. "Hungry?"

"Oh, God," Eric whispered, and he reached out, cupped the back of Brian's neck in his hand. "Can I -- would you kiss me?"

"Yeah," Brian grinned. He stayed still, waited for Eric to lean forward and press lips against lips.

And Eric did. It struck him for a moment that this was already different from all the times he'd gone home with other men, all the times he'd taken a quick fuck offered in a secluded public space. He might kiss on occasion, but not every time. And when he did, it wasn't like this. It never seared his mouth, never made him want to flinch away and push forward at the same time.

He slid his tongue forward, tasting, trying to memorize everything about Brian's mouth. There was something to his flavor Eric couldn't wrap his thoughts around. Not the copper sting of blood; something else. He drew back, running his thumb over the back of Brian's neck, trying to figure it out.

"I don't know, either," Brian said. He flashed Eric another grin. "You're trying to figure out what I taste like. Why it's different. Am I right?"

"Yeah," Eric breathed. "It's... smoke, or... age or... I don't know." Not knowing just made him want it all over again, though, and he leaned in, mouth open wider this time, plunging his tongue into Brian's mouth and rubbing against Brian's tongue. _More. Just more._

Brian brought his hands up, squeezed Eric's upper arms and pushed him away -- gently, but easily, as if it took no more effort than the kiss itself. "Easy," he teased. "I could tell you there's no rush, but bloodvirgins never really listen. So c'mon. Get undressed, get on the bed. On your back."

"Yeah," Eric whispered. "God, yeah." His cock, trapped under denim, agreed wholeheartedly, throbbing and -- Christ, he couldn't believe how aroused he was -- leaking across his thigh. He groaned as he took his shirt off, tossing it aside, and kicked out of shoes and socks so he could follow shirt with jeans, finally getting his cock out of its confines. "Oh, God, that's so much better..."

Brian laughed and ran a hand up Eric's back. "You're right. It's a hell of a lot better. Look at you..." He pulled himself up close, pressing his front against Eric's back. "You're very fucking pretty," he whispered, kissing Eric's shoulder just where it met the neck, licking across that spot and gently -- very gently -- grazing his teeth across it.

Eric groaned, sure he was going to come just from that. He slid his hands back to Brian's hips and dug in, gasping. "Please. Oh, God, please. Fuck..." _I'm not going to last._ Dizzy, breathless, Eric let his eyes slip closed.

"On the _bed_ ," Brian said, still teasing his lips and teeth -- _fangs_ \-- over Eric's skin. "Unless you don't want to get fucked while I bite you."

Eric wrapped a hand around his cock, squeezed hard just under the head. "I'm close," he said, apology all over the words.

"You're young," Brian dismissed, finally teasing them both with a scratch of his fangs that came very close to breaking skin. "Get on the bed, Eric."

A shiver ran down Eric's spine, and he nodded. He climbed onto the bed and rolled onto his back, raising himself up on his elbows so he could keep watching Brian. Brian was already starting to get out of his clothes, leaving them puddled at the foot of the bed before walking to the nightstand and pulling out lube.

Having a few moments away from Brian's hands and teeth helped; Eric could feel arousal ebbing faintly, just enough for him to be certain he could make it through this without embarrassing himself. He fell back against the pillows when Brian sat down on the edge of the bed, and closed his eyes when Brian ran a hand up the inside of his thigh.

"Why do you want this?" Brian asked softly.

"I've always wanted it."

Brian's fingertips brushed over Eric's balls, then lower, the spot behind them, working down into his cleft. Eric gasped, hands going down to the covers, squeezing and twisting fabric into his fists. Brian chuckled. "Do you always like being fucked this much?"

"No..." Eric panted. He spread his thighs a little wider, groaned when Brian's fingertips -- too dry to go far -- sank in just a little deeper. "No, I just want this _so_ much, God, please..."

Brian drew his hand back, but only long enough to get lube over his fingers and climb between Eric's legs. As soon as he was back between Eric's thighs, he sank three fingers into Eric's ass, and Eric curled half-off the bed, face tight, body clenching.

"Too much?"

"No, God, no, so close--"

"I know. Go ahead and come for me." Brian rocked his hand forward, carrying his fingers in as far as he could stretch them. "Come on, Eric."

"But--" _But_ nothing; as soon as the order was out, Eric started coming, throat arching back as his cock jerked against his stomach. " _Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, fuck._ "

Brian waited, rode out the orgasm and the clenching, and drew his fingers back when it was over, adding a little more lube and coating his cock with it. "Still in a hurry?" he teased, pushing Eric's thighs apart.

"Christ..." Eric glanced up, eyes so dark they were nearly black now. "That was--"

"It gets better," Brian teased. He levered himself down over Eric's body, tugged Eric's knees up to lock his legs around his waist. "Ready?"

"Better?" Eric asked faintly, clutching at Brian's shoulders. "Christ, no, I'm not ready at all. My head's going to come off."

Brian laughed and started pressing forward. "Not just yet it won't."

Eric jerked underneath him. _Too soon, God, too soon, what were you thinking, Jesus, a minute to recover--_ Christ, it burned, fucking _burned_ , feeling stretched all around Brian's cock, wondering if Brian was going to sear his way into Eric's skin, leave him scarred. It felt possible. _Anything_ felt possible.

"Good," Brian panted, grabbing for one of Eric's wrists and pressing it down into the bed.

Eric struggled against the grip and was surprised when the struggle didn't take him anywhere. A six-four man built like Eric was rarely had any trouble getting his wrists out from a pin. _Not in control here. All right..._ He took his other arm off Brian's shoulder and let it rest on the bed, and Brian pinned that one down, too. The thrusts came harder, Brian's hips pumping hard, cock reaching deeper with every motion of Brian's hips, and Eric tugged him closer with his legs, tilted his hips up to let Brian have more. _More. Just more. Just everything, Christ..._ His cock jerked, and he cried out from it; getting hard again was going to _hurt_ this soon.

"How do you feel?" Brian asked. He tightened his grip on Eric's wrists and tugged them a little further apart, leaning down and licking at the side of Eric's neck. "Good?"

"Burned alive," Eric panted, squeezing his eyes shut hard. The lick -- Christ, if Eric thought Brian's cock was burning him, that was nothing compared to the feel of his tongue dragging across skin. "Oh, Jesus. Please. Bite me..."

"Not yet." Brian let one of Eric's wrists go and slid his hand between them, wrapping it around Eric's cock. It brought another half-dozen pleading curses out of Eric's lips, but Eric was hard again almost as soon as Brian touched him.

And Brian wasn't stopping. More strokes, one after another, until Eric shoved his free hand between them and tried to grab for Brain's wrist. Brian laughed, tightened his grip on Eric's cock and kept going, still fucking him into the mattress, not even letting Eric have the pretense that he could prevent the twisting, slick strokes over his come-covered cock. Eric fell back into the bed, breathing hard, wincing and wondering if Brian was planning on making him come again before biting him. _Maybe he is._ All right, fine; Eric stopped struggling, started thrusting his hips up, eyes shut hard and concentrating on getting as close as he could as fast as he could.

"Always in such a hurry," Brian murmured, lowering himself down, finally letting Eric's cock go. "Think you're going to die if I don't bite you soon?"

"Think I might," Eric grunted. "God, _please_ , need it so much..."

Brian licked his way over Eric's shoulder, up along his neck. "Then you'd better come for me, huh?"

Eric nodded, closed his eyes. The idea of those fangs sinking into his skin, piercing him, of Brian tasting his blood and then sucking, drinking more and more until he'd had enough...

...Eric came, groaning, almost screaming, arching up hard against Brian.

Brian nuzzled against Eric's neck one last time and set his teeth down against the vein. The fangs were sharp, sharper than Eric expected, and if it weren't for riding out the last of his orgasm he might have shrank back from them. As it was, the bite was fast and cruel but came just as Eric's cock pulsed its last jet against Brian's chest, and then...

_...fuck._

Everything slowed down, Eric's breath catching in his chest as Brian started sucking, started the flow of blood into his mouth. Eric's eyes opened, but he couldn't see anything. Just light, flashing across his vision, whole body feeling warm and tight and centered on that bite, the flow of blood connecting him to the vampire feeding on him.

It was better than the orgasm. Better than _any_ orgasm in Eric's short life.

His mouth felt dry; he licked across his lips and tried to speak, tried to whisper out _more_ or _please_ or _God, yes, anything you want, anything, forever_ , but no sound came to him.

There was a muffled sound from Brian as he came, and Eric's eyes slammed shut again; the idea that his body and his blood was enough to please Brian all the way to orgasm, _Christ_...

And it ended too soon. Brian licked over the wounds, closing them up, and Eric shivered underneath him, feeling empty and dull and burned inside. He shivered more as Brian pulled away and headed to the bathroom to clean up.

His hand went to the bite on his neck, and he wondered if it was going to bruise. He'd heard vampire bites never left a mark. And that felt wrong, too, somehow.

_I'm marked. Christ, am I marked._

Sweaty, covered in come, hand pressed against his bite, Eric fell into sleep.

~*~

"C'mon. It's morning. Need to get you up and out of here."

Eric squinted up at Brian, wondering how in hell it could be morning already. _I just fell asleep..._

A glance at the clock told him Brian wasn't joking, though. Eric grunted, reaching for the towel in Brian's hand. There wasn't much to be done about the stains on his chest; even with a warm, wet towel, he'd slept eight hours in his own come and it wasn't going anywhere until he showered. "Do you mind if I..."

"Yes," Brian said, shaking his head. "I really should've gotten you up earlier."

"...oh." All right, fine; Eric had been kicked out like this before. Not by a vampire, but he knew when his welcome was worn out. But all the same... "Are you sure you don't need to feed before--"

"Eric." Brian took a seat, put a hand on Eric's shoulder. "You're young, you're hot, you're a good fuck. You're not going to have any trouble finding someone to bite you. It's just not going to be me. Okay?"

Eric pulled away from Brian's hand, nodding. "Yeah. Okay. It's fine." He swung his legs off the bed and collected his clothes, tugging them on haphazardly. _Get out. Just need to get out of here. Stupid, trying to stay. He could have anyone in the world. Doesn't need you._

It seemed as though he should have offered something else, another word, another sentence. A thank-you, maybe. But he got to the door, looked back, and the words didn't come.

Not even _good-bye_. He slipped out the door, silent.

A few blocks away, words finally came to him. " _You're young, you're hot, you're a good fuck._ Great," Eric whispered. "So why didn't you want to keep me?"


	5. Five Failed Attempts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eric's still looking for someone to keep him.

Eric knows he's beautiful. He spends hours in the gym toning up. He eats a balanced diet, and he takes vitamins to make sure his blood provides all the proper nutrients. He always gets enough sleep, unless he's got a date with a vampire and it runs late. He doesn't smoke, drink, or do drugs, because he wants to leave his blood untainted for anyone who wants to add impurities himself.

When he's looking for a bite, he gets it. Sometimes they're even flattered by his offer.

Eric doesn't want them to be flattered. He just wants to be _owned_.

~*~

"Aren't you pretty. Come here."

Eric goes to his knees and tilts his head up. He couldn't cover the eagerness on his face if he tried. It's been four months since he's had anyone bite him. _Four months._ It's amazing he hasn't gone mad.

The vampire bends down and licks Eric's neck. He pulls back and looks at Eric again, closer this time.

"You've never been owned?" he asks.

"No."

The vampire nods and leans back in, sinking his fangs in hard. Eric gasps, holds himself still to keep from clutching at the vampire.

In the morning, Eric's alone again.

~*~

Whatever language this vampire speaks, it isn't English. Eric doesn't care. He lets the vampire shove him out the back door into the alley, where he tilts his head up, exposing his neck. He hasn't had a bite in three months, and he's starved for it.

The vampire unbuttons Eric's fly and reaches in, curling a hand around Eric's cock and squeeze-stroking until Eric's moaning and pressing his hips forward. Fangs graze over Eric's neck, and as soon as Eric comes, the vampire digs in, biting hard and sucking harder.

The vampire smiles at Eric just before he walks away.

~*~

"Hi, I'm Josh."

"Eric."

"Wanna?"

"Please."

"You've been bitten before, haven't you?"

"Often, but not often enough. Please, anything you want, just... I need it so much..."

"Easy." _Laughter._ "Suck me first."

"Mm."

"Oh. That's good... good boy, yeah, just like that."

" _Mmm._ "

" _Fuck_ yeah -- now come up here and fucking ride me."

"Christ, yes..."

" _Ahh._ God, you're fucking tight."

" _Please._ "

"Good boy. Now come. C'mon. You're gonna taste so good when you're coming..."

" _Ahhfuck!_ "

" _Nnnn._ "

" _Yes..._ "

_Panting._

"That was... huh. You -- you don't belong to anyone...?"

"...no."

"Huh." _Pause._ "This was nice and all. I gotta go, though."

"...oh."

~*~

It's always the same. It's always the best Eric's felt in weeks, and then the worst he's felt when the vampire leaves. Nobody ever tells him why. At most, he gets a strange question that gets his hopes up, like _you don't belong to anyone?_ No, he doesn't belong to anyone, though that's not for lack of trying.

His hands are bound with tape and his ass is bruised, torn, bleeding. But he's got fangs sunk into his inner thigh, and if he's crying into the gravel, it's more from relief that he's finally being bitten again than anything else.


	6. Composed For Introduction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Universe now has a memories section. Go us!

It's taken Jonny a bit of research and a call to his sire, which he didn't enjoy, to find out enough about Peter's family to substantiate his belief that the man's a praetern. His sire, it seems, had kept a human pet in Wales in the early 1700s, a woman thought to be witch or banshee or something mystical. She would be, if he calculated correctly, Peter's dozen or so great-grandmother.

Whatever she was, it had been enough to taint the bloodline and then Pierce happened along and, unknowingly, triggered Peter's reaction. And that left Jonny sitting on a Thursday night waiting on his child and new pet to make an appearance.

Pierce wonders how attuned to his emotions Peter is; he's nervous, as he always is when seeing his sire in person. By the time he pulls up to the house, the nervousness has gotten bad, making his cock rock-hard and his breathing too rapid. He doesn't know if there's any good way to explain the reactions to Peter, so he hasn't tried yet. He shuts down the engine and looks over at Peter. "I've never done this before," he says, "taken someone home to meet my sire." _I hope he doesn't scare you too much._

"Never." Peter's hand is on the door, and he's just as nervous as Pierce. He's picking up vibrations from the vampire, subtle stings at his pysche, and then there's that all-over hotness. _No. Not now._ He breathes, panting little hisses, willing his body to cool down. "I should be honored, then."

"I don't know if it's that so much as... I just wanted you to know." Pierce puts a hand on the back of Peter's neck. "I want this to be easy for you," he murmurs. _I hope Sean's not there._

"I'll be fine." Peter takes a deep breath, centers himself on Pierce's touch. It's soothing, calming. "Don't expect anyone to eat me alive."

"Only me," Pierce whispers, leaning over to lick the side of Peter's neck.

"Hmm, Pierce, if you start, we won't get into the house," Peter murmurs.

"Am I starting?" Well, yes, he's starting. He's nibbling, teeth running up Peter's throat. "He might just send us to my room for a few minutes if we come in this way."

Peter laughs, then moans at the nibbles. "Blood's hot again, and the music's back. Please, Pierce, don't make me meet your sire this on edge."

"No," Pierce whispers, "no, I can't go in like this, either." He tugs Peter's collar to the side, sucks gently at the skin where neck meets shoulder, and then he bites down, just barely piercing flesh, blood trickling onto his tongue.

"Oh yes, oh god." Peter sucks in his bottom lip, fighting off the scream. Wouldn't do to be shouting outside your father-in-law's house. Father-in-law? Peter doesn't even want to fathom where that notion came from. He grabs Pierce's arm, rides out the trickle of pain that's slammed into by a wave of lust.

If it weren't for the fear of going to his sire sticky and smelling of come, Pierce would have the seat angled back flat and he'd be dragging his body on top of Peter's now. As it is, the bite feels like it'll be enough to get them through a while -- maybe as much as half an hour. He groans, licking up the rest of the blood and bringing his lips up to Peter's for a kiss.

The siphoning off of blood calms Peter enough to be able to take the kiss, push into it, claim what's his. He moans, breathing out into Pierce's mouth.

Pierce runs his fingertips down Peter's cheek and pulls back slightly. "Better?" he whispers.

"Much better," Peter murmurs. "Not nearly as hot. Think I can manage without making a fool of myself."

"All right. Let's go in, then." Pierce kisses Peter's neck one more time and then slides out of the car, wishing his erection would go down just a bit. It won't help much, though. If Jonny puts him on his knees, it'll be right back in place and it'll have that lick of humiliation that makes everything so _sharp_ when he's around his sire.

Peter does his best not to hold on tight as they walk up the lit pathway to the front door. He's trying not to be impressed either. The house is obviously old, at least turn of the century if not older. It's not out of gothic fiction, but it's not far off the mark, he thinks, and he finds himself wondering if the door will just open itself when Pierce knocks.

It doesn't. The door opens with human help, or at least Peter assumes the man standing there is human. He's tall, taller than Pierce, with black hair that's falling into his face. The man brushes his fingers through his hair, pushing it back, and Peter notices the eyes. Brown. Almost to the edge of black. Distant and hollow.

"Evening, Sir," Eric says to Pierce. "Master's upstairs. He says you're to come straight up." He nods at Peter. "Both of you."

Pierce is never comfortable around Eric. Two years in Jonny's house and Pierce still doesn't know when, if ever, he's going to lose that haggard look. Sometimes Pierce wonders if Eric stays around hoping Sean will take him back, but of course Sean's never looked back at a pet in his life.

He reaches behind him for Peter's hand, nails digging in. If Sean's here... he'd better not be. Pierce doesn't think he could handle seeing Sean now.

But he nods to Eric, trying to be polite, and guides Peter upstairs where Jonny's waiting.

Peter winces at Pierce's grasp. _Why so tight?_ He nods to Eric, being polite. The staircase sweeps up and curves along dark paneling under a stained glass window that consumes the wall. He can't make out the images, but there's a lot of red. "Who?" he asks, looking back down the stairs, noticing Eric's still standing there, watching them. "Is he alright?"

Hell. The last thing Pierce wants is to explain Eric to Peter. Not this early. Not when Peter's just getting used to the idea of being a pet. "He's better than he was," Pierce says, wincing at how cryptic it comes out. "He's not really all right, no, but he's getting better."

"Actually, he's a _lot_ better than he was." The voice comes from the top of the stairs, where Jonny steps out of the darkness into filtered light from the floor lamp. "Eric's recovering from a severe addiction," he says.

Peter looks up. It's his turn to squeeze Pierce's hand. _Is that his sire?_ Jonny looks to be about 30. He's dressed in black, casual slacks and a long-sleeve shirt, his hair cut short. _Seems so young._

"Nothing you should be alarmed about, Peter," Jonny says, putting one hand on the bannister. "It was a unique situation." It's a lie, but just a little one. Jonny has no fears of Pierce's pet turning out like any of Sean's. "It's good to see you, Pierce. It's been awhile."

"Yes, sire," Pierce says. There it is. One shred of Jonny's attention, the sound of his voice, and Pierce is hard, uncomfortably so, jeans feeling tight and whole body on that edge between aching for it and aching for distance. It never gets easier. "Sire, may I introduce Peter, my--" he swallows, "my pet, and Peter, this is my sire, Jonathan."

Jonny waits till the men reach him to extend his hand. "Peter. It's very nice to meet you."

"Thank you, sir," Peter says, his voice steadier than he thinks it should be, taking Jonny's hand and shaking it tentatively. He's nervous. He's really trying not to be, but he knows his hand is sweaty and he's shaking inside. But it seems Pierce's sire doesn't notice, or chooses not to acknowledge it.

"Manners. How quaint, Pierce, to find a human who manages not to mangle the English language." Jonny lets go of Peter's hand and smiles as he turns to Pierce. He touches his fingers to Pierce's brow and strokes down over Pierce's cheek. Common greeting, touch of ownership. Only for sire and child, it's followed by a kiss, and Jonny leans forward, brushing his lips over Pierce's.

Pierce has finally gotten the hang of holding back the shiver when Jonny touches him, when Jonny kisses him. He kisses back, grip on Peter's hand loosening. Some discomfort's unavoidable, but Pierce trusts Jonny, cares for him, and he's grateful to be near his sire now when everything in his life seems so overwhelming, so confusing.

Peter watches, fascinated. This man -- no, vampire -- is Pierce's _father_ and yet the kiss is not innocent. Most of all, it's arousing. His cock is hard, but he thinks it shouldn't be. Gradually, Pierce's hand slips from Peter's, and Peter doesn't find that discomforting either. There's a strange easiness in the room.

The kiss is brief, much moreso than it would be if Peter were not there, but Jonny doesn't mind. He steps back. "Come into the study. We have much to talk about, I believe." Jonny turns around and walks down the hallway toward the heavy oak pocket doors pushed slightly apart.

"That's putting it mildly," Pierce mutters under his breath, following. He reaches out for Peter again as soon as his sire's eyes are off him. "You'll have questions," he tells Peter. "You can always ask, but now's a good time, since my sire has answers I might not."

Questions. Oh, yeah, Peter has questions. A million of them. First off is what to call Pierce's sire. "Do I just call him sir all the time?" he asks, leaning in and whispering.

"It's probably better if you do," Pierce says. It takes him a moment to realize Peter doesn't have that _compulsion_ , the urge to go to his knees that Pierce has. It's very strange heading into the study and not stripping off immediately, kneeling at Jonny's feet. But this isn't just a simple summoning, and Pierce needs to stay close to Peter, so he pulls Peter over to a couch and tries to settle down.

Peter settles onto the couch, more on its edge than resting back into the high-backed lavishly upholstered piece. He's waiting, not speaking until spoken to.

Jonny doesn't sit, but rather takes position behind the cherry table, placing his hands on its edge and leaning forward. It's unusual to see Pierce sitting, but he understands. This is less about them than it is about the human. "I assume Pierce has explained what has happened to you."

"Yes, sir," Peter says softly. "I'm his pet now."

"Much more quickly than most humans. The addiction's not typically that sudden," Jonny says, "but you are not the typical human." He pauses, seeing the confusion on Peter's face. "You're a praetern, one whose bloodline has been tainted."

"Tainted? By what?"

Jonny chuckles. " _My_ sire. It seems an ancestor of yours was bitten by Lord Pertwee, but not turned. That ancestor was a witch."

Pierce leans closer to Peter, hoping like hell this isn't throwing him off too much. None of it's been expected, and he's clinging to the idea that Peter would choose him if he could, might choose this life. _I don't know what either of us are going to do if he runs._

"I'm a witch?" Peter asks, thoroughly confused, but settling back now, leaning against Pierce's shoulder.

"No." Jonny's amused at the thought. "The proper term, should you have psychic abilities, would be warlock, not witch." He shifts, leaning more into the desk. "And I wouldn't venture to guess on the genetic predisposition of such abilities. That's more Jude's field. What you are, however, is called a praetern, a mortal whose bloodline is connected to ours. That is what made you connect so quickly with Pierce."

Pierce slips an arm around Peter's shoulders. "I didn't even realize such things existed, or -- more accurately, I realized praeterns existed, but never thought to meet one. I could scent you from across the room," he admits. "I've never had that reaction to anyone before."

Jonny sighs. "That is my fault, for not better explaining to Pierce the workings of pets. He's never expressed much interest in it, and I stay rather occupied with his brother." He straightens and walks around the desk.

 _His brother. The man downstairs?_ "It's overwhelming," Peter says, "something I can't seem to control. If I'm away from Pierce for a more than a few minutes, I start hurting."

"Initial cravings. They will subside," Jonny says, "in time."

It's a relief to hear that, for Pierce as well as Peter, but even so... "I'm not going anywhere," Pierce says firmly. It's almost more for Jonny than for Peter. "I can't imagine wanting to go anywhere."

Peter wants to curl up on the couch, put his head in Pierce's lap, but it doesn't seem quite right. Too familiar, even though he feels oddly at home. "Will it ever just stop? The craving."

Jonny shakes his head. "No. It'll always be there. Lessened, but never truly gone." He smiles, watching the interaction between Pierce and Peter, the small gestures that say more than Pierce's words ever could. "You are very lucky, Peter, to have happened on Pierce. Any of our bloodline could've made the connection. If you are to spend eternity in the arms of the same lover, he is the best choice."

"Eternity?" Peter can't hide the surprise in his voice. "But I'm not... he's not said a word about ..."

"You didn't explain that part, Pierce? How being a pet lengthens mortal life?" _How not being turned can eventually leave the pet in such a state as to drive him insane?_

"No," Pierce admits, wincing. "I thought he had enough to deal with just finding out, and then..." He glances at Jonny, and if it were possible for him to blush, he'd be doing it now. "We've been rather busy," he mumbles.

"Busy. Of course. How could I forget the sex?" Vampires don't blush, which can be infuriating to some mortals and other vampires. Jonny finds it useful not having to worry about how his emotions affect his facial response. "Constant, I imagine. Can't really get enough of each other." He leans back against the desk's edge. "If you wish to snuggle," he says, grinning, "don't let me stop you."

Peter does blush, faintly, and turns his head into Pierce's shoulder. "Is he always like this?" he whispers. "Seems to be almost nonchalant about it all."

"Yes," Pierce says, shivering a little more. "But we all have to be, and him more than most, since he's the patriarch." Permission to snuggle sounds awkward but so needed that he can't turn down the offer. He pulls Peter closer, nuzzling the side of his neck. _So much better._

Peter wraps his arms around Pierce's waist, nearly crawling into his lap. _Much, much better._ "Patriarch. There's more than you and..." he pauses. "The man downstairs. Eric. Is he your brother?"

Pierce doesn't give a thought to whether Jonny's watching or how closely he might be watching. He pulls Peter fully on his lap and hugs him, groaning as his cock strains at the fly of his jeans. It takes a moment for Peter's question to penetrate. "Downstairs. No, that's Eric. One of Sean's castaways."

"Castaways?" Peter squirms, not really meaning to make things worse.

Jonny's watching. And moving. Quick across the room. He sits down into the spot just vacated by Peter. "As in Eric was Sean's pet," he says, deciding on honesty and not leaving it all to Pierce to explain. "But then Sean grew tired of him and threw him out, not caring if it hurt the human or not. Eric came here, and now he's my responsibility." He leans back against the sofa. "He's a good one, Pierce. Inquisitive, attractive, not easily frightened."

"Yes, sire," Pierce says, pride all over his voice. But damn -- now Jonny's so close, and Peter's squirming, and Pierce arches under him, putting both hands on Peter's hips and pulling him down. "Need," he pants, "please," and the plea for permission or acquiescence is directed at both pet and sire.

"Please," Peter echoes, looking at Pierce and then glancing at Jonny before closing his eyes, breathing out against the ache in his cock, the steady burn winding up his spine into his brain. He's not into public displays, but he doesn't know how much longer he can control the craving.

Jonny leans over, kisses Pierce's neck. "Whatever you need, child, take," he says. "From your pet." He licks softly up Pierce's throat. "Your sire."

Pierce's whole body feels heated, flushed with something urgent -- it's like the first days after he was turned, when the need to feed was new and unfamiliar and it was Jonny's care that kept him from going mad. He swallows against the ache left behind after Jonny's touch, and tugs at Peter's shirt. "It's all right," he whispers. He doesn't know who he's trying to reassure. "Please, I need you." He looks at Jonny. "Can you draw from me while I'm feeding from him?"

"Of course, Pierce." Jonny draws his fang over Pierce's skin, drawing a drop of blood. "Feed from your pet. I can sense his need. His blood cries for you."

 _He understands._ Peter smiles, nuzzles into Pierce's shoulder, licking the other side of the vampire's neck. "It's hurting so much. The music swells in my veins."

It's never been this easy bleeding for Jonny. Not since Pierce became a vampire himself. Pierce nods, lifts Peter and settles him on his back, lying with his head against the couch's arm. He doesn't bother asking if Peter's comfortable; God, how could either of them be comfortable now? But he works Peter's shirt up, over his shoulders, gets it over his head and off and then bends down again, licking up Peter's chest. If he didn't need the sex, the connection, every bit as much as the blood, he'd be sinking his fangs in now. Deep and hard, just to take the edge off.

Peter's too hungry for Pierce's touch to worry about Jonny sitting next to them. He's concentrating on Pierce's tongue caressing his chest. That alone is near enough to make him want to come. Enough to pull him over the edge. If he didn't need the rest of it, what there is beyond the sex. The blood, the touches. He drapes himself over the couch's arm, head back at an odd angle, looking most debauched.

Jonny's noting it, too, the ease with which he's drawing Pierce's blood. Not typical. Perhaps it's the praetern. He'll have to talk with Jude about it. Later. At the moment, he's occupied with the blood stinging his tongue, with the warm flesh under his fingers.

"Yes," Pierce breathes, " _yes_ , I've missed that..." He looks over his shoulder at Jonny as he moves his hands to Peter's fly, quickly working the fabric open while he's staring at his sire. Sometimes Pierce manages to multitask well. "It feels _good_ , sire." He turns back to Peter as he works the rest of Peter's clothes off. "It doesn't usually," he murmurs. "Not when he's drawing from me."

"It's not hurting, is it?" Jonny whispers, sliding his hand over Pierce's stomach. "An oddity about feeding from your child." He licks the wound, glancing over at Peter. "Beautiful boy. Will you share, Pierce? His blood?"

 _Share._ The word hits Peter's brain, coils and echoes as he arches up into Pierce's touches, wriggling to help Pierce shed him of the clothes. "Pierce, please, need you."

 _Share. No._ Pierce feels possessiveness flare up, frowns as he moves just far enough from Peter to get his own clothes off. He's impatient to get Peter's skin all over his, and as soon as he's naked he's back on top of him, squirming and groaning and gasping all at once. "Need you, too," he whispers. _Now answer your sire before the lack of it becomes rude._ He looks back at Jonny again. "With his permission, sire," he says quietly. "And anyone but you and I'd say no outright."

Jonny knows he's pushing a button. A very sensitive button. Sharing is his right, if he chooses to take it. _Droit du seigneur._ Sire could have first taste of a pet if he desired. Jonny'd never really taken advantage of it with his children. He didn't stand on a lot of the traditions vampires had, unless they served his purpose. And that meant Sean was more likely than Pierce to reap the benefits of tradition. "With your permission as well," Jonny says, kissing Pierce's throat.

Permission. His. Pierce's. Peter's hearing the words, but not really processing them. His mind is too intent on how his body's responding. Heat. Blood boiling. The signs are so strong now.

Pierce lowers his voice until he thinks it's low enough to slip under the bloodsong, low enough Peter won't hear it. "Sire, please, not this time," he says. "Anything from me you want is yours, but if you want to taste him, let it be sometime he's not so desperate he'd do anything we asked." He's asking a great deal with that. The need in Peter's scent is overwhelming, and if Jonny can sense even a fraction of that, he must be hard enough to cut glass. But his protective instincts are flaring, and he can't not ask. Has to beg for it, if there's any possibility begging would work.

"It is not like you to beg, Pierce." Jonny pulls his hand back. He understands the seriousness of Pierce's request. It is not one his child would make lightly. He closes his eyes, listens for the bloodsong. It's searing, and it has him hard, as hard as Pierce must surely be. "You will stay here tonight," he whispers, opening his eyes. "Your room is ready." He moves away, stands up. "In the morning you will come to me, Pierce."

"Yes, sire." Pierce nods gratefully before the need to touch, lick, and bite overwhelms him. He reaches down, wraps a hand around Peter's cock and bends his head to Peter's throat. "Need you so much," he whispers. "Need this so much."

Peter acknowledges Jonny's leaving with a nod, a look of confusion, brief and fleeting in the wake of Pierce's words. "Yes, need you," he murmurs, all other thought erased from conscious mind. His hands are on Pierce's shoulders, rubbing down his lover's back -- what's the proper word for a vampire who owns a pet? master? -- and Peter's whimpering pleas for more.

Pierce gets his cock up against Peter's and wraps his hand around both, thrusting against Peter and groaning. It's dizzying as hell, just feeling skin on skin this way, and he's so hungry his fangs are starting to ache. He finds just the right spot on Peter's neck and pricks at the skin with his fangs, one last scratching tease, but then it's too much and he sinks his fangs in, moaning as the blood starts flowing.

The song's there again, crescendo when Pierce's fangs slice into Peter's throat, spiraling the mortal into oblivion. Peter pushes up, causing the wound to deepen and the blood flow even more easily. Faster. He's losing himself in the whirl of red and black, and it's only the sharp white pain of Pierce's hand wrappig their cocks, tugging hard, that grounds him.

One mouthful, then the next, and Pierce reminds himself to be careful, not to take too much. God, but Peter tastes so good, and it's not hard to imagine drinking him dry. _But not yet._ Pierce takes his fangs away and seals the wound, and then his thrusts are coming fast and the friction's impossible and he slams his mouth down against Peter's as he feels himself getting close.

First his blood, then his breath. Peter yields both without thought. He'd give his life if asked, abandon reason and sanity to be with Pierce. He should be scared by that, but he's not, and that frightens him even more. So close, teetering on the edge, Peter returns the kiss in kind, sucking and biting Pierce's lips.

The bites completely undo Pierce, and he screams into Peter's mouth as he comes, cock jerking and coating Peter's cock. It only makes the slide that much easier, slippery and wet and wonderful, and Pierce doesn't stop even when he's starting to wince from it.

Pleasure descends into pain, quick and jerking Peter's body as he comes. Too intense. Wonderful and agonizing. Perfect. He's panting when Pierce pulls back, breaths harsh and his lungs insistent on getting air. And he's shaking, heat dissipating too fast, chilling him from the inside out.

"Mine," Pierce whispers, sliding an arm around Peter's shoulders and holding him close. "Mine." And the next words that want to slip out are _love you_ , but he's not at all sure whether that's what he's feeling or not. Is it love, what a vampire has for his pet? Or is it something different altogether? He doesn't think there are words for it.

"Yours," Peter murmurs, letting the next word fall out of his mouth. "Forever." That's a long time for a vampire, and he's not sure if it's true, but Pierce's sire talked of long life and the hunger never being fully satisfied. He wonders if this is love. Can vampires love? Or is it all blood and sex and possession? It doesn't matter at the moment, Peter shifting under Pierce's weight, pulling himself even closer. The words to describe what they have will come later.


	7. Interlude: Jonny's Pet

Jonny's grinning as he leaves the study with a quick glance over his shoulder at vampire child and mortal pet. He understands Pierce's need, Peter's craving. The bloodsong's a cacophonous echo in his soul, and it needs to be silenced. He stands on the landing, the debate of going up into the tower or down the stairs playing in his mind.

_Jude or Eric. Brother or pet._

The desire for blood and flesh wins out over the desire for knowledge and Jonny continues down, making his way to the den at the back of the house. He'll find Eric there. It's where Eric stays when he's not in bed.

Eric was feeling reasonably good today until Pierce showed up. The craving's been a dull ember in the pit of his stomach for the last few weeks, no flare-ups, no lying in bed and biting through his lips trying to keep himself from going to Jonny. It's foolish. Jonny's told him to come when the cravings are bad.

Tonight they're not just bad, they're excruciating, and he's not sure if it's physical -- touched off by Pierce's new pet and how loud the song is between the two of them -- or mental, just a matter of envy. Either way, he's in bed, sweating, shaking, counting off seconds and wondering how long he can last before he has to beg.

"Eric, I," Jonny starts on entering the den, then pauses. No sign of Eric. Not a good sign. He's sure the arrival of their guests had created a problem, aggravated Eric's craving, but he'd assumed the young mortal was taking it in stride. He continues through the den and pushes open the door to the bedroom Eric has on this floor.

Jonny's not surprised by the sight, Eric wrapped up in the blanket, the whole bed shaking. "There's no need for this," he says quietly, crossing to the bed's edge. "You're torturing yourself."

"Sorry," Eric pants, "I can't -- can't -- didn't want to -- damn it." He untangles himself and shoves a hand through his hair. "I thought it'd be all right. I didn't want to bother you, sir."

"How could it be all right?" Jonny sits on the bed, finding room as Eric slides over. "Pierce's pet is setting off ripples throughout the house." He slides his hand over Eric's as it brushes through the long black hair. "Come now, sit up a bit and we'll get you what you need."

"Yes, please," Eric breathes. He turns into Jonny's touch. _Oh._ That's better already. "Please take me. Feed from me." As much as he needs it right now, it's going to burn and burn badly, but that doesn't matter. The craving's so much worse.

"I shall," Jonny murmurs, stroking his hand down over Eric's neck. "And you shall feed, too, Eric. You can't keep putting it off." He knows the inevitable will come; Eric will have to be turned. He's gone too far. "The longer between blood-takings, the worse it'll get." Jonny leans down and kisses Eric's forehead. "It's going to hurt, you know, my taking it tonight."

"I know." Eric reaches out, slides his hands up Jonny's arms. Jonny's right. Eric's been putting off all thought of being turned. He's never wanted that. "How are you, sir? Is it affecting you, too, Pierce and his pet?"

Jonny shivers as Eric's hands caress him. Such large hands. So commanding. Or could be, had Sean not broken the human. Eric seems so much less, and curled into bed much smaller than Jonny knows him to be. There are moments he thinks he should've exacted more of a price from Sean for leaving him this. But then, when Eric smiles and asks _How are you, sir?_ , Jonny forgets being angry with his child and can only remember how much he's come to care for Eric.

"They are undoing me, I fear," he says. "Peter is no ordinary pet. His bloodline is tied to the family and its music sears my mind. That is why you hurt so much, I fear. You are part of me and that draws the song to your soul."

"What can I do to help?" Eric asks. Unlike Jonny and the rest of the family, Eric's not bitter about Sean, and he's still convinced he got more from Sean than he lost. It got him here, after all. And he had three weeks with Sean before Sean left him here.

He tugs the sheets away, stretches out and pulls Jonny with him. "Do you only need to drink, or is it more than that tonight?"

Jonny's stretched out beside Eric, the soft silk of his shirt brushing against Eric's skin. So not self-conscious, this mortal who has been so abused by their bloodline. Jonny lays his hand on the flat of Eric's stomach and traces a line up the center of his chest. No longer can he feel the ribs, he notes, the feeding and nutritional supplements bringing back some of the weight Eric had lost after Sean.

"It is everything tonight, Eric. Body and blood and communion." He dips his head and licks over Eric's shoulder. "You are mine now."

"Yours," Eric says, closing his eyes and relaxing under Jonny. "Thank you." All this time and he's still grateful for every touch Jonny gives him. He cards his fingers through Jonny's hair. "You feel so good tonight."

"Such a beautiful creature," Jonny says, continuing his strokes and licks. "I think I shall feel better when I'm filled with you." He kisses over Eric's heart. "Won't ever turn you out. You do know that." It's not a widely popular decision, Jonny already getting grief from various factions of the vampire conclave.

"You shouldn't make promises," Eric whispers. But they've had this conversation before. "I'll stay as long as you want me." He rubs up against Jonny, trying to get closer. "Need you. Please."

"I make promises I can keep." Jonny licks over Eric's nipple, kisses. " _Will_ keep." He wraps his arm around Eric's waist, giving the human the closeness he's craving. "Need to undress, luv. Can you let me go that long?"

"I think so," Eric says, smiling. There are times it would be a question that needs a serious answer. He's all right for now, though. "Pierce is going to be all right?" he asks. It's taken him this long to collect his thoughts, get to a point where he can even think about Pierce and how he's doing. Pierce has never seemed cruel to Eric. Eric hopes he's happy with his new pet.

Jonny pulls back, sits up and stands beside the bed. He works on the buttons of his shirt, considering Eric's question. "Pierce is going to be fine, Eric. Why do you ask?" The shirt's undone and Jonny's shrugging it off his shoulders. There's a tattoo on his left shoulder, the family crest, and a scar running down his chest.

Eric loves how Jonny looks bare. There's no associated possessiveness -- he knows better than to think Jonny's _his_ \-- but damn, it's good to be his. He thinks about Jonny's question, wonders if it's odd that he cares about what's happening to Pierce. "Having a pet doesn't seem easy," he says softly. "I wondered if he was going to mind it."

"Ah, that." Jonny puts the shirt aside and unzips his trousers, toeing out of his shoes as he nudges them down over his hips. "Pierce is very different from Sean. Peter is the first pet he's had, and I believe he's mature enough to handle the codependency."

"Oh," Eric mumbles. He pushes himself up onto his elbows. "I don't mean to pry. Maybe it's none of my business..."

"No, it _is_ your business, as much as anyone else's in this house." Jonny finishes undressing, putting his trousers with his shirt. He's not more self-conscious about being naked than Eric. "You were unlucky, Eric," he says, kneeling on the bed's edge, "and it is not your fault in any way." They've had _this_ conversation before, too.

 _But it was worth it. Would have been worth it even if you hadn't taken me in._ Eric's not about to say _that_ again; the few fights he's had with Jonny have been over that subject, and there's no common ground for it. He nods, sits up and reaches out for Jonny. "I don't need you to comfort me right now," he says. "Just drink -- please. I'm still hurting so much..."

"It's not comfort, Eric," Jonny says, voice deepening, but he lets go the argument. For now. He slides his hand back around Eric's neck and tangles his fingers into his pet's hair, tilting his head back with a jerk. "I'll drink now. You'll hurt more. Then everything'll be all right."

He moves, straddling Eric's body and tilts his own head. He swipes his tongue over the pulse point. Once, twice. Jonny lets his fangs graze before biting, but once he decides to bite, he sinks into the flesh, tearing at it and drawing out the blood. It stings, that first taste of taint tingling, and then burns slipping down his throat.

Eric's fingers dig into Jonny's hips, but he keeps himself from screaming. He knows it's not supposed to feel like this, that in some ways what he had with Sean for three weeks wasn't worth it at all, but _Christ_ , under it all, under the pain and the burn, it's so good to bleed for someone that he's blinking back tears of gratitude. This is what he's meant for.

It will be justice, Jonny thinks, when Eric's turned, when he's a vampire and Sean's brother. A twisted justice, one Eric most likely doesn't want, one he definitely can't appreciate at the moment. Jonny sucks until the burn is gone and the blood is treacle, till the song from Peter's blood plays out and is replaced by the music of Eric's soul, quiet and wanting.

Eric's breath catches in his throat as Jonny finishes. It's so good, worth any pain. After Sean, he's never going to believe in _always_ , but now, here, the moment is everything he needs.

Jonny pulls back, kisses Eric, brief, almost chaste. That, too, is the for the moment. "Drink now," he says, bringing his hand up, raking his nails down over his chest, across the scar, drawing out the blood. "Take it, Eric."

Eric closes his eyes as he leans forward, lapping at the blood and shivering. Drinking doesn't hurt -- after being fed on, it's almost soothing -- but it's something he struggles with all the same. His tongue runs across Jonny's skin in rough strokes, and he moans, cock growing hard as he takes his blood back.

There's no burn at all in this, just the sweet kiss of Eric's lips. The burn is in Jonny's cock, the desire making itself known after the bloodlust is satisfied. Those first nights Eric was in the house, the bloodlust was all there was. The sex came later, when Jonny learned to appreciate Eric. He hisses out a breath, not drawing back, not wanting to stop Eric until he's drank enough.

Eric lifts his face up, hesitating for a moment before pressing his lips to Jonny's. But he doesn't need to wait, doesn't need to beg permission. Christ but Jonny's good to him; he wraps his arms around Jonny's waist and holds tight.

"Does my pet want me?" Jonny asks, pressing his body down, his cock heavy and sliding against Eric's stomach. "Does he want this?"

"Christ yes, _please_ ," Eric groans. He goes to his back again, wrapping his legs around Jonny's waist. "Want you so much." _Still amazes me that you want me in return._ "Please. Have me."

"Shh, quiet, my pet." Jonny rubs his hands down over Eric's arms, sliding himself down to kneeling between Eric's legs. "I think I'll take you like this tonight, where I can watch you." He slips one hand down to his cock, guides it against Eric's hole as he nudges the human's body into a better position. "You'll keep your eyes open for me."

Eric's always prepped. Just one rough shove would do it, would bury Jonny deep inside him. He spreads his legs wide apart, tries to relax when all he really wants to do is squirm and plead. "Yes," he whispers. "For you."

Jonny barely waits to hear the words before he shoves in, a solid, forceful thrust forward, not stopping until he's deep, as far as he can go. He should care that he's hurting Eric, but he knows the pain of being fucked with minimal prep is far less than yielding blood. He returns his hands to Eric's arms, wrapping his fingers around the too slender wrists and pinning them to the bed.

Were they both mortal, this would look silly. Eric has a solid five inches on Jonny, not to mention a good bit of weight. The thought of the man on top trying to dominate the one underneath would boggle some minds, but Eric's not the vampire. Jonny is, and with that comes a strength he taps into, one that allows him to hold his pet down and slam repeatedly into his body.

It's nearly impossible keeping his eyes open. But Eric's gotten good at accomplishing the nearly-impossible because Jonny wants him to do it. His lips part as he takes Jonny in, as he lifts his hips against sharp, painful thrusts, and he's not thinking of anything more than being here, _his_ , Jonny's. "Please." God, and it's so good giving himself to Jonny this way. " _Please._ "

"Shhh," Jonny murmurs, pulling back and pushing in again, the forward motion shoving Eric back into the bed's pillows. "I know you want this. And it's yours. All you ever have to do, Eric, is ask for it."

"I know," Eric pants. He does know. But he's been given so much. It always seems ungrateful, asking for more, putting his needs ahead of Jonny's. "God, please, feels so good -- just _more_ , please, let me--" He takes a deep breath and makes the offer. "Let me bleed for you while you're coming in me."

Eric's an addict. He needs to bleed to feel complete. Jonny understands that, too, and it's one thing that's not Sean's fault. There's a quirk in Eric's brain, something that addicted him to vampires, to the bleeding. Jonny lets up on Eric's right wrist and places his hand in the center of Eric's chest. Slowly, each movement timed to a thrust, until he's just on edge, ready to slide over. At that point, Jonny digs the nails of two fingers into the soft flesh and pulls his hand downward, slicing open the pale skin, letting the blood flow as he comes, almost silent in letting go, in filling Eric's body.

Eric screams all over again when the blood's drawn and Jonny comes. The pain and the scream aren't nearly enough to outweigh what Eric's feeling, though, the satisfaction that comes from bleeding for someone and that he's never found in anything else. Addiction was never a choice for Eric. He's never been bitter about it, never asked why it had to happen to him. He's just taken the good with the bad, savored every good moment while he's had it. There've been a hell of a lot more good moments with Jonny than Eric ever expected to find.

Jonny traces scratches over cuts until he's exhausted himself, body spent and Eric's chest a mass of blood. He's smiling as he pulls out of the human body, bloodlust tinging his eyes from green to near-gold, and he stretches out over Eric, pressing against the wounds, ink-blotting the blood between their bodies until he can't resist the urge any longer and licks his pet clean.

Eric buries his hands in Jonny's hair and shivers as the blood's licked away. "I wish there were words," he murmurs. _I love you_ has never felt right. _Thank you_ has never been enough.

"Quiet now," Jonny says, sliding to Eric's side, staying close. "No more words tonight. Just sleep." He reaches down, pulls the covers up over them. "Before dawn, we'll take a long bath and wash all the linens."

"Are you staying?" Eric asks, settling in. "I want you to. But I wondered if with Pierce here, you might..." He doesn't want to cling. Doesn't think he can help it.

"I'm here till dawn," Jonny says, soothing voice. "Pierce is occupied with his pet," he pauses, running his fingers through Eric's hair, "and he knows better than to come to my room before 10. Go to sleep now, Eric. I'll wake you when it's time for our bath."

Better and better. Bleeding, sex, Jonny's staying, the promise of a bath in the morning. "Yes, please," Eric murmurs, already relaxed enough and sated enough he knows he won't have any trouble getting to sleep tonight.


	8. Cacophony

The man standing at the end of the bar is an addict. Sean can smell it on him. Addicts make such good bleeders. A vampire can pound into them over and over and nearly bleed them out and still they'll want more. It gets boring after a while, but while they last, addicts are ten times better than ordinary bleeders. Sean starts heading over, hoping he'll make it to the addict before anyone else does.

He can see a few people glancing at the mortal, but he beats them there, and he puts a hand on the back of the mortal's neck and squeezes.

"Need a fix?" he asks. He flashes his fangs as the mortal looks over.

There isn't any question. There's no hesitation. The addict leaves the bar, letting Sean's hand on the back of his neck guide him until they're headed through the hanging chains and into the back room. Here there are men being fucked and vampires feeding, and Sean squeezes the back of the addict's neck and pushes down. "Knees," he says.

The addict drops and nuzzles into Sean's crotch. He laces his fingers behind his back. This is a bigger man than Sean realized at first; he's got five inches on Sean and his body's huge, muscular, built in all the right places and shown off beautifully in a black t-shirt and jeans. He's not marked, though. No scars. Sean wonders how long he's known he was an addict, and whether anyone's ever taken him home for longer than a day or two.

He must have been at this a while, though. That or he was a hustler before he got to be an addict. He gets Sean's belt unfastened, then the button at the top of his fly. Zipper too, and then he's nosing into Sean's fly, nuzzling the fabric apart and dipping his tongue in to find Sean's cock. It only takes a few seconds for him to get Sean's cock out, and then he opens his mouth wide and sinks down on it, sucking hard until the head of Sean's cock is buried in the back of his throat.

 _Useful little addict._ Sean sinks his nails into the back of the addict's neck and shoves forward, choking him. The addict just pushes forward harder. _Talented._ He starts fucking the addict's mouth, rough and selfish and slamming into his throat hard enough to choke him every time. It brings tears to the man's eyes, but he doesn't protest. He keeps himself steady and still and doesn't flinch.

"Christ, you're a perfect whore," Sean growls. He's close -- so close -- but he pulls out of the addict's mouth when he's about to come, wraps his hand around his cock and jerks off onto the addict's face. Come streaks over the addict's cheeks, over his lips and chin, and Sean chuckles as the last jets fall. Marked. _Mine._

He puts his cock away and fastens his pants back up. "Up," he says. "You're coming home with me."

The addict's eyes widen a little. He nods and comes to his feet, neither unlacing his fingers nor trying to clean up. Good boy. He knows how this works. Sean leads him outside, hails a cab. On this end of town, nobody notices if a vampire catches a cab and the mortal he's with has a face stained with come. And they don't notice if the vampire slides his hand into the mortal's crotch and squeezes.

Sean gives the driver his address while the addict clenches his teeth and tries not to scream.

"What's your name?" Sean asks.

"Eric," the addict whispers.

"Ever belonged to anyone?"

"No."

Sean squeezes harder; Eric tilts his head back and gasps. "You've got a good mouth," he says. "Good body. Tell me how long you've been doing this."

"Six years," Eric whispers. "Six years since the first time I was bitten."

"Did you know before that?" Sean leans over, licks a spot of come off Eric's chin. "Did you know you were an addict before you could even get one of us to bite you?"

"I just knew I needed it," Eric whispers. "Please. I'll do anything."

"I know." Sean smiles, licks Eric's cheek clean. "Addicts always will. It's why they taste so sweet."

Eric shivers, and Sean keeps licking the come from him as the cab makes its way to Sean's place. Eric's clean long before Sean stops licking. And Sean's hand keeps up the squeezes, all rough and meant to hurt. When the cab finally comes to a stop, he gives Eric's cock one last merciless squeeze and then climbs out of the car. "Come on," he growls. "Out."

He takes Eric upstairs, straight to the bedroom instead of waiting for anything else. Once they're there, he grabs Eric's shirt and rips it apart, jerking it down over Eric's arms. "Strip," he says. "Get on the bed."

Eric nods and strips down so fast Sean wonders if he's been a whore as often as he's been a bleeder. He doesn't look the type. Too built. Too perfect. Too clean. But he's Sean's now, and if Sean wants him to behave like a whore, he will. Sean licks his fangs. Addicts really are the best.

Up on the bed now, Eric stretches out flat with his arms at his sides. Sean takes his clothes off slowly, eyes on Eric the whole time.

"Stroke off for me."

Eric gets a hand on his cock immediately and starts stroking. Sean finishes undressing and comes up on the bed, straddling Eric's legs. The view's so good from here. Eric's face is twisted up with desperation, and his hand's moving nice and slow on his cock.

"Please -- please, may I come...?"

"Never said you couldn't," Sean murmurs. "Do it."

Eric gasps, cock jerking in his hand, and the come streaks out over his fingers and up against his stomach. He whimpers softly when it's all over, and he pries his eyes open to look at Sean. "Can I stop?" he asks.

"No."

Eric's young. Sean thinks he might be twenty-five or so. And Sean's determined to get every drop of come out of him that he can before he even scratches at Eric's skin. Eric lasts through three orgasms before he's biting through his lip and almost screaming with every stroke of his hand, and Sean takes pity on him, tells him he can stop. The scent of his blood in the air is acrid, like the smell of a match striking, but Sean can barely hear his bloodsong. Which means he hasn't come enough, obviously; enough orgasms and his blood'll be singing the goddamned Hallelujah chorus, almost leaping out of his veins to get to Sean's fangs.

Sean could fuck him. But he's saving that for when Eric's earned the right to bleed.

He gets a glove and a nice thick lube, and starts working his fingers into Eric's arse. Eric spreads his legs wider, pulls his knees up. If he knows what's coming, it isn't making him flinch at all. Sean's got two fingers in him, then three, and he doesn't stop there. Four's a stretch, and it makes Eric tilt his head back and gasp, but Sean gets all four fingers into him and starts fucking him steadily. And Eric's cock responds to that, even though Sean suspects Eric wishes it wouldn't. Sean waits until Eric's fully hard before tucking his thumb in and working his fist into Eric's body. Harder. Firmer. Faster, until Eric's body swallows Sean's hand to the wrist.

"And that was the easy part," Sean breathes. Eric lets out a soft, distressed noise, and Sean starts moving his fist. First it's rocking motions, almost gentle, and there's a quiet sound in the air. A hum, a shiver. Sean can't place it at first. He rocks his fist in harder, and the tempo changes. It's a little more desperate now, and Sean can almost hear notes. But the song's more a feel than a sound, still, and Sean's hand moves deeper, harder, fist shoving in hard in time with Eric's rhythm, and when Eric's screaming and begging, the feel of Eric's bloodsong is all over Sean, making him realize he's been hearing it all along and didn't recognize it.

He's probably too fast when he works his hand out of Eric's body. Eric doesn't complain. _Such a good pet,_ Sean thinks, stripping the glove off and tossing it over the side of the bed, into the bin. He lies down between Eric's legs and pins Eric's arms down.

"Now you're mine," Sean growls, and his fangs sink in at the same time his cock does, burying themselves in Eric's body. Sean gives the hard mental _push_ that comes from taking someone as a pet, the shove that laces a mortal with addiction and need and binds him to a vampire for as long as the vampire intends to keep him. It's not until the addiction's been made that he tastes Eric's blood against his tongue.

And he nearly stops there. Eric's blood tastes _charred_ , smoky. It almost chokes Sean to swallow it, and it burns as it's going down.

 _Just a reaction to being taken,_ Sean decides, and keeps fucking Eric steadily, keeps drinking.

But a few mouthfuls later it's still the same. Eric's blood still burns, and the feel of it's drowning out Eric's bloodsong. Sean pulls himself back, licking at his fangs and frowning, and he pulls himself out of Eric's body, leaving him shivering and confused on the bed.

"You _do_ belong to someone," Sean says. But no, that doesn't make sense; if he were someone else's pet, the addiction would have rejected, causing a kind of feedback that would've had Sean's fangs aching for hours. He's only made that mistake once. Never again.

"Never," Eric whispers. "Please, _please_ , I don't know what I've done, I -- please, let me bleed for you, fuck me, _anything_ \--"

"Stop begging," Sean snaps. He paces a few steps, shoves his hands through his hair. "You're not owned. Christ, your blood tastes like ashes. What's the matter with you?"

Eric flinches, then, finally. "I don't know," he whispers. His arms and legs fold in, and he rolls over on his side. "I don't know. I'm sorry. _Please._ God, I need to bleed more now than I did when you found me in the bar. Please."

Sean shakes his head. "In the morning," he says. "You can sleep in the bed tonight. Take a shower if you want one; it's through there." He points. "I'm going out. Don't even think about leaving."

"Don't--" Eric almost laughs. "No. I won't leave."

"Good." Sean picks up his clothes and leaves the room, getting dressed on his way out. He needs someone else. Doesn't matter if they want it or not. He needs to get the taste of Eric's blood out of his mouth.


	9. Dissonance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two weeks after [Cacophony](http://www.livejournal.com/users/helens78/242969.html#cutid1), Sean takes Eric home to meet his sire.

Eric made the mistake of asking where they were going when they got in the car, and now he's bleeding from the lip. It's making him ache. Christ. He doesn't know how Sean can stand it, why Sean isn't stopping the car to lick up the trickle of blood as it runs down his chin, but Sean's hands are tight on the steering wheel and he's just driving all the faster.

"Don't do anything to embarrass me when we get there," Sean says tightly. "Don't say anything unless you're asked. Look to me before you speak."

"Of course," Eric murmurs.

The rest of the drive passes in that same awkward silence, and Eric clenches his fists, trying to stay calm. This has to be driving Sean insane. It _has_ to be. _How can you stand it?_

But then they're pulling up to a house, and Sean parks the car. "Get out," he says. "We're here."

Eric climbs out of the car and follows Sean to the door. It's awkward walking when he's this hard; he's nearly dizzy with it. Dizzy. Confused. But he's not asking any more questions.

It's a quiet evening. Jonny's downstairs in the library, reading, and Jude's tucked away in the tower. Life goes on as usual for the vampires. Until there's knocking at the door. He pulls himself out of the comfortable library chair and moves slowly to the front door, wishing briefly vampires had the power to read minds, see the future and all that nonsense some writers give them, then he'd know before he opens the door who's waiting.

"Sean," Jonny says, pulling the door open and stepping back. This doesn't bode well. Sean never visits for pleasure, and rarely visits voluntarily. He ignores for the moment the taller man, the human who's standing, barely, to Sean's side. "Do you need something?"

"Sire," Sean says, nodding. "May I come in?"

"Of course." Jonny couldn't say no to Sean, wouldn't, not even if he's gone and done again what he's done so many times before, screwed up a human to the point of no return. He turns and walks back across the foyer, taking a seat a few treads up the staircase.

Sean doesn't even turn to Eric; he simply snaps his fingers and points, and Eric follows obediently. When Eric's inside, Sean shuts the door behind him.

"Sire, this is Eric. Eric, my sire, Jonny. Knees, pet."

Eric barely glances at Jonny before going to his knees and lacing his hands behind his back. _Sire. You brought me here to introduce me to your sire?_

Jonny watches. He'd've already guessed the pet part. Well-trained, it looks like. He knows that's not any of Sean's doing. "Eric," he says, nodding before turning his gaze back on Sean. "You don't bring your pets to introduce them, Sean. You've never stood on the formality of family. What'd you screw up now?"

 _Fuck._ Eric winces. He's known things weren't going well for a few days now. But this sounds worse than he expected.

"I need to find someone else for him," Sean says bluntly. "There's something about the way he tastes that isn't right. I thought it'd be better if I took him for myself. I was wrong." It's not the whole truth, far from it, but Jonny would probably tell them both to leave if he knew Sean bit the addiction into Eric before he even tasted Eric's blood.

Eric's visibly shrinking in on himself with every word. _Tastes wrong._ He's heard that so many times... and now, despite how bad the craving is, he's wishing he could drop straight through the floor and disappear. He doesn't want to be here.

"And you thought you'd bring him here?" Jonny's voice is calm, almost eerie in its low timbre, sweet English accent. He glances back at Eric. "How long have you had him?"

"Three weeks," Sean says. "As a pet for two weeks." Well. Two weeks was when he _told_ Eric he was a pet; before that, Eric hadn't even blinked at the addiction. Eric was an addict before Sean even got to him; for a week, it seemed normal enough. "Taste him yourself. There's something wrong."

Eric blanches. He doesn't want anyone else biting him. More than that, he doesn't want anyone else biting him just to prove a point about how his blood tastes wrong. But he swallows and looks up at Sean. "Whatever Master wishes," he says, finally letting his tongue flick out to lick up a hint of the blood trickling down the corner of his mouth.

"He tastes _wrong_? So you just toss him aside." Jonny motions for Eric to come closer. "I promise I won't hurt you, Eric."

Eric doesn't think it'd be possible to hurt more than he already does. Sean hasn't fed from him in two days. He crawls forward, head bent down as he comes within reach of Jonny.

"Take off the jacket, Eric." Jonny looks back to Sean. "You didn't answer me, child. You think you can just toss aside another pet? That we keep picking up the pieces?"

Eric kneels up and slips out of his jacket, sliding his arms behind his back again and hoping he's done it fast enough to cover the bruises. Sean, meanwhile, shoves a hand through his hair and shakes his head.

"I meant to keep this one," he says quietly. "This time I really did."

"I'm sure." Jonny doesn't believe Sean. He didn't believe Sean the very first time, when he killed David from not paying attention. He shakes his head and turns to Eric, taking the human's hand in his. He turns his arm over. Bruises. Needle marks. Slowly he raises Eric's wrist to his mouth and rakes his fangs over the tender flesh, scoring a line just deep enough to draw out the blood. It doesn't take much, Eric's skin worn with bites, and soon Jonny's mouth is flooded with an acidic copper.

Eric gasps and tries to pull his arm away. It hurts -- _burns_ \-- and his eyes sting from it. It's never been like this before. It doesn't feel like this with Sean. "Please," he whispers. "Please, I can't -- hurts, please."

Jonny pulls back. He doesn't need to hurt the boy to learn what's obvious. He licks the wound, sealing it. "What the fuck have you done?" he says, looking at Sean. "What've you been shooting him up with?"

"Sire--" Sean rubs at his eyes. "The usual for when a pet's having trouble giving as much blood as he needs to. Nothing harmful." But then most masters don't suck the blood and the injection out immediately.

"You're creating the problem." Jonny stands up and backhands Sean, hard and quick, with all the force he has. "Stupid child. His blood's not tainted. It just has a different ilk." Jonny can't put his finger on it, but there's something unusual. He moves fast, grabbing Sean's shirt before his child can fall, slamming him back against the stairwell's wainscoating. "Let me guess. You shoot him up. You feed. His blood never gets the nutrients."

"Damn it." Sean shoves back, but he's not as strong as Jonny, and Jonny doesn't go anywhere. "I'm not _trying_ to hurt him."

"You're an idiot, Sean," Jonny says, bracing his hands on Sean's shoulders, slowly pushing him down the wall till he's on his knees. "You don't think. You just act, without any comprehension of the consequences. Eric's blood may not have tasted right to you, but if you'd thought to ask someone, we could've explained it."

"You're right, I should have asked," Sean says quietly. "But I can't keep him. And it's early. Someone else could still take him."

"And if I say you have to keep him." Jonny presses his hand against Sean's throat, cuts into the carotid with his nail. "If I refuse to take another of your problems away."

"He'll be dead within a month," Sean whispers. "And I won't be much better off. And you know it." Jonny knows Sean's stubborn enough not to drink from him again.

"No, you'd be dead the day after he dies." Jonny's sure Sean thinks it an idle threat. It's not. He's tired of cleaning up after his son. He presses harder, smiling as the blood seeps through his fingers. "No more, Sean. I'll take Eric." He leans closer, dropping his voice. "You don't touch him again. Ever. And the next pet you take better be for life."

Eric knows he's supposed to stay quiet, but the threat, the order -- he lets out a soft, distressed sound and squeezes his eyes shut. It's a fucking nightmare. When he opens his eyes, it'll be the way it was the first night with Sean and Sean will say there's no way he'll leave Eric behind. _Please._

"All right," Sean whispers. "To all of it. I swear it."

Jonny gouges at the wound he's making, digging until the blood's flowing freely. Then he dips his head and drinks, sucking roughly, making it hurt as much as he can. His thoughts aren't for the human kneeling behind them, only for Sean and making him realize this cannot happen again, so he sucks and licks and reopens the wound, the intention obvious even to Sean that he's going to be near drained when Jonny finally lets go.

Sean knows better than to struggle, and he knows struggling is pointless, but it doesn't matter. He fights, and he fights hard, shoving at Jonny, screaming, trying to get away as Jonny slices into flesh and sucks down mouthful after mouthful of blood. Christ, this hurts more than it ever has, and having his sire feed from him is never pleasant. He's rock hard, jeans so tight he can barely breathe, and Christ, all the pain, the hurt of it, the vicious humiliation -- he's damned if he's going to come through this. _No. You aren't getting that._

It's only when he feels the music decrescendo and dissipate that Jonny pulls back. Sean's stopped fighting, at least physically, and he's laying back against the wall, blood trickling from the wound down over his shirt's collar.

"That's a good boy," Jonny says, voice biting with sarcasm. He runs his hand down Sean's shirt and onto his jeans. "Just one last thing." He cups Sean's cock through the denim. "You know you can't stop it." He squeezes hard, not that he suspects it'll take much.

" _Fuck._ " Sean clenches both fists, slams his head back against the wall. "No. _Fuck_ , no."

Jonny loosens his grip and reapplies it, harder, fingers working under and kneading at the heavy balls. "Oh, yes, you will. You want to. I've always been able to pull this out of you, Sean." It's a little bit humiliation, a good bit exerting control. "Give it to me and you can crawl out of here. If not, I believe your room downstairs is still available."

Trick question. Mentioning the dungeon is like an icy hand cutting off Sean's breath, and he stares hard at Jonny, knowing full well Jonny's not bluffing. _Christ. Fucking Christ. Give it to him. Fuck, give it to him. Now._

"Nn -- _goddamnit_ ," Sean growls, hips shoving up hard and forcing his cock against Jonny's hand, "goddamnit, I fucking hate you--" But it's enough; it's just barely enough, and he comes, screaming his way through it as his cock jerks against his jeans and soaks through, stains them and gets him sticky and miserable with come.

"I know you hate me," Jonny says, voice chilled as the night air. "And you love me, too, and that double-edged sword has hung over our heads for a century, Sean." Jonny leans in, kisses Sean's lips, finding little comfort in the connection. He releases his hold on his child, steps back, turns to Eric. "Upstairs. Top of the landing and turn left. Go into the first room."

Eric pushes himself to his feet. He's been trying not to listen, not to hear what's happening to Sean, because there's nothing he can do about it and being protective would be suicide. But this -- being put away, being told he's never going to see Sean again -- _please, God, no, not this._

He looks over his shoulder. Sean's still crumpled on the floor, chest heaving, eyes closed. Eric winces. "Sean...?"

Sean shakes his head, tries to blink his eyes open so he can look at Eric. His eyes are glassy, glazed over. "Go," he whispers. "Just go."

Eric's shoulders drop, and he turns back to the stairs, not looking back as he goes up. Sean's eyes slip closed, so he won't have to watch Eric leaving.

Jonny waits until Eric's gone, up the stairs, out of what he knows is human hearing range. He figures Eric might need a minute or two to himself anyway, so he sits back down on the stairs, nudging Sean's leg with his foot. "I don't like seeing you screw up," he says, sighing. "This isn't going to be easy, for him, you, or even me."

"I know," Sean murmurs, pulling himself back up to a seated position, then thinking better of it and half-collapsing, rubbing his cheek against Jonny's leg. "I hate this. I hate fucking up as much as you hate to see it happening to me."

"Then why do you keep doing it?" Jonny absently slits his wrist, vertical along the vein, and holds it up for Sean. Yes, he was quick to punish, to teach a lesson, but he does love Sean and he's just as quick to give back a bit of what's needed to survive. "Here, drink a little. You won't make it to your car unless you do."

Sean licks at Jonny's wrist, carefully, not taking more than he's being offered. He kisses Jonny's palm when he's done. Hate. Love. It's the same thing. "I know I disappoint you," he murmurs. "I'm sorry."

There's no argument. Sean disappoints Jonny. Jonny wishes he didn't, but he's realistic and knows they've both gone too far for it to be any different. "I would forgive you anything," Jonny whispers, "and you test it. At some point, Sean, I won't be able to make allowances any longer."

Sean nods. He's known that for a while now. Longer than he's been willing to admit. He leans up and parts his lips, wanting a kiss --needing it -- but knowing better than to take it.

Jonny obliges his child, pressing his lips against Sean's. At first it's a light brush. Then a bit deeper. Finally, there's a claim made, tongue nudging through lips and it's a bonafide lovers' kiss.

And Sean relaxes into it, finally letting his guard fall and kissing back. There's fear under the surface of his emotions, not just of Jonny but of himself. Failing his sire. Never knowing what he wants or needs. Being left alone.

The kiss lasts as long until Jonny feels Sean relaxing. Not just his body, but deep into his mind and soul. He wonders if he should've kept Sean closer, not let him go out on his own. Sean's much less secure in himself than Pierce, even though he has decades on the younger child. But it's blood spilled, and the past can't be erased. And the only hope for the future is most likely kneeling in an upstairs bedroom unsure if he's going to survive till morning.

Sean shivers when he feels Jonny pulling away. "Eric," he says softly, "you'll take care of him?"

"Yes, I'll take care of him. Prepare him for what's coming." Jonny runs his hand through Sean's hair. "He'll survive, one way or the other."

Nodding, Sean pulls away, tries to figure out if he can make the drive home. He thinks so. "You meant it, though. I can't see him again."

"For now, no, you can't. Eric needs to know there's no going back, so he'll stop wanting you." Jonny leans back, resting his hands on the stair tread. "Prove to me I'm wrong, that you can be responsible, and you can hold out hope I'll change my mind."

"Can't prove anything except by doing it." Sean rubs at his eyes. "I can try."

"That's all I ask." Jonny sighs. "You gonna be able to drive? Or should I force Jude into service?"

"No, I'll be all right." Sean nods. "I just need -- I need to stay the fuck away from them, for a while. Live off blood packs and not leave the house for long. I can't keep doing this and you're bloody tired of rescuing me."

"Excellent idea, Sean. Next time I see you, let it be for a better reason." Jonny grabs onto the bannister, pulls himself up and turns away to move up the stairs.

Sean nods, staying on the stairs for a few minutes to collect himself before leaving the house. He'll make a few phone calls in the morning, plan to stay in for a while. Hibernation doesn't sound half bad.


	10. Andante

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Picks up immediately where [Dissonance](http://www.livejournal.com/users/helens78/243452.html) left off.

Eric's kneeling on the bed, hands behind his back, head tilted up, eyes closed. He can feel it when Sean leaves the house; the emptiness is a low, aching silence where there's been music for the last three weeks. He's not under any illusions that Sean's sire was exaggerating when he said Sean wasn't supposed to see him again. _But God, how do I convince him otherwise?_

Three weeks with Sean was longer than anyone had kept him before. Eric doesn't know what's wrong with him. All this time and he still doesn't know. And then there was Jonny tasting him -- Eric's never had trouble bleeding for a vampire before. The whole left side of his body aches from the bite. That's not supposed to happen.

 _Just stay here and obey and do whatever they ask of you, and maybe you'll get to see him again._ Eric exhales. The hope's enough to keep him steady.

Jonny stands at the doorway for several minutes, just watching Eric, cataloguing how the human doesn't move, how the breathing's deeper than it should be.

"You know he's gone," he says, walking on into the room. "Tell me what you're feeling."

"Empty," Eric whispers. "I want him back. _Need_ him back. It hurts, the further away he gets."

"The emptiness will pass. You can't have him back." Jonny doesn't add the _not now_ his mind holds in reserve. No reason to give the boy hope he doesn't realize is there. "It will hurt, for a time, but it would've been worse if you'd stayed with him. You'd be dead in a matter of weeks."

"Why?" Eric turns and looks up at Jonny. Five years of questions in the making, and that's the only one he wants an answer to. "What's the matter with me?"

"Has anyone ever told you your blood's off? That it tastes strange?" Jonny asks, moving to sit on the bed's edge. "Other than Sean."

"Most of them don't tell me anything," Eric says quietly. "And usually it's a question, am I owned, as if I've got someone's mark on me."

Jonny nods. "Of course, that _would_ be their first thought. It's logical, to think the tainted taste is a mark of some sort. How many vampires have fed on you?"

"I don't know." Eric estimates. "More than thirty. Fewer than a hundred."

"For how long? When'd you become an addict, Eric?" Jonny settles back into the pillows, putting his feet up on the bed and stretching out. "You can relax. I only adhere to the formality of kneeling when it's warranted." He smiles. "Or when I'm just in a mood to see you on your knees. Which isn't now."

 _Doesn't want to see me on my knees. All right._ Eric unfolds himself from the kneel, stretches himself full-out across the foot of the bed. It's a wide bed, but his feet still dangle off the edge. "I think I was an addict before anyone even bit me. I was nineteen. I'm twenty-seven now. Eight years." Fewer than a hundred in eight years -- that almost doesn't seem right. Eric frowns. _More than a hundred? Fewer than a hundred fifty._

"That explains why you're not dead," Jonny says, not coldly with a decided matter-of-factness. "Or sicker than you are. Let me guess, you avoid doctors. No one's ever told you have a medical condition that makes you disagreeable to most of my kind."

"I haven't seen a doctor since I was fourteen," Eric murmurs. He looks up at Jonny. "Is that what's wrong with me? I have a medical condition?"

"I can have the tests run, but I'd wager you suffer from hemochromatosis. Too much iron in the blood. It'll make a vampire sick if he's not accustomed to that kind of blood. Sean's definitely not, hence his logic that you taste strange."

"Does that mean you're not supposed to feed from me?" Eric asks. It's unthinkable. He doesn't know how he'd survive it.

"No. It means those of us who feed from you have to understand the consequences. It's going to hurt you more than it should. It's going to hurt me, until you become used to it."

"It's always hurt. I love it." Eric frowns. "But the way it felt when it was you -- I've never burned that way before."

"Not exactly sure about that. Part of it's the iron problem. Part of it isn't. That burned like drinking from a sire." Jonny crooks his finger and motions Eric toward him. "C'mere." He pats the pillow. "Beside me. Want to try something."

Eric crawls up the bed. It's not trust. Not exactly. It's more that he has nothing to lose.

Jonny waits until Eric settles. Then he touches, a hand to Eric's shoulder, and he rubs his up over Eric's throat, around the back of his neck. "Talk to me," he whispers, leaning in, rubbing his cheek against Eric's. "Tell me what you hear, feel, want."

"It sounds like chaos," Eric whispers back. "Too many voices. Can't make anything out. And it burns already. Cinders. But I need to bleed. Bite me. Please."

Chaos. Cinders. Jonny closes his eyes. Yes, that makes sense. So much sense. He's burning from the inside out. "Shh, listen for one thread of sound, one voice. Mine. That's all you need to hear." He licks over Eric's throat, slowly, lingering before letting his fangs graze the flesh, draw the first trickle of blood.

It hurts. Christ, it hurts so much, and Eric wonders if it's always going to be this way. But somewhere in the pain there's a thread -- a whisper, almost, a voice in the distance, and Eric closes his eyes and clings to it.

Jonny can feel Eric's heart slow, ease off to a soft rhythm, and then he bites, digging in with fangs and welling up the blood until it's flowing steadily. He'll take enough to be the equivalent of a lab phlebotomy, siphoning off the iron. The bloodsong's wild, ricocheting through the orchestral movements of a Wagnerian opera segueing into Mozart's Requiem. No wonder Sean gave up, tried to make it better with the injections. All that did, though, was put more nutrients into Eric's blood, increase the iron levels, drive Sean even more insane with its taste.

It could be a coincidence. Mostly likely it's not, and Jonny's thoughts of Sean are touching off thoughts of Sean for Eric. But even fighting through the pain, there's something _wrong_ about this. Something that doesn't belong. He's been taken. He's a pet now, Sean's pet, and having another vampire's fangs on him feels _wrong_. He can talk himself through it intellectually, but that doesn't make a bit of difference to his body. His hands come up, and he shoves at Jonny, struggling and twisting to get away.

The move catches Jonny offguard. _He's fighting me._ He pulls back, honestly not wanting to tear Eric's throat apart if the human pushes much more. "Calm down, boy," he hisses. "I won't take you against your will."

"I can't--" It's the first time Eric's ever been angry with a vampire, and he doesn't know if he's more furious with Jonny or with Sean. "Do you know what it's like for me?" he asks. "Do you know how it feels having someone trying to feed on me that isn't him? Did he -- did he know it was going to feel this way? And still he left me here with you."

Jonny sits back. "Yes, I do know what it feels like. I understand very well what it means to be a pet, so don't suppose you know everything." He sighs. "Sean left you here because he had no recourse. If he'd kept you, he'd've ended up killing you. Not on purpose, but by neglect and not understanding. Here, you'll survive."

"Survival." Eric shakes his head. "I've had survival for years now. I thought it was going to be more than that."

"I can give you survival." Jonny touches Eric's cheek, gently rubs his hand along the warm flesh. "I can give you more than that, if you're willing to stay."

"If you'd asked me before Sean I wouldn't have even thought about it. How can I stay like this? Fighting you when you're trying to drink? Hurting both of us when you manage it?"

"Where would you go? Think beyond your desire to get back to Sean, Eric. Think about living."

 _Day to day and bite to bite and vampires who tell me I taste wrong, and fighting them off every time they try to give me what I need._ Here at least Jonny can help him. He'd be insane to leave.

He nods, tries to relax back into the bed. "What is it you'll want from me?" he asks quietly.

"You stay, don't try to run. You'll have the freedom of the house," Jonny says, smiling, "although I'd stay away from the turret's upper rooms unless you're specifically invited." Jude has been known to mangle, but Jonny really doesn't see the need to frighten Eric. "I feed from you, you from me. We work through your addiction to its logical conclusion."

Eric's eyes narrow. "Logical conclusion?"

"You'll have to be turned." Jonny doesn't think it would help to mince words.

"Christ." Eric looks away. "I don't want that. I've never wanted that."

"Sometimes our choices are made for us," Jonny says. "It was inevitable, from the first bite a vampire took, Eric. You can be turned or you can waste away."

"Do we have to think about it now?" Eric asks. "How long do I have before you'll have to turn me?"

"A year. Maybe less." Jonny doesn't know. It's another matter he has to discuss with sire and sibling. "But there's time to make plans. You should rest now." _Much as I might like other things._ "We can resume this later."

Eric nods. He's bled enough that he could probably rest for a while. "I haven't--" He swallows. "I haven't thanked you. For giving me this much."

"You're welcome. Now, head on pillow, go to sleep."

It's surprising how easy it is to follow an order like that. But after the last three weeks, Eric's exhausted enough that he's chasing dreams nearly as soon as his eyes close.

Jonny runs his hand through Eric's hair, brushing stray locks away from his face. He'll wait until he's sure the human's deep asleep, barely breathing, and then he'll head to the tower. Too many things to parse through, too many questions he already knows the answers to.


	11. Agitato

It's two in the morning, and Eric's sweating through his sheets. The last few nights have been bad, but tolerable. Tonight a thousand screaming choruses are running through his brain. It's been four days since he got here. Four days since he's bled. Jonny would say he's suffering for no reason; Eric wonders if Jonny understands how afraid he is. He doesn't think he could keep himself from fighting, and he doesn't want to hurt either of them.

But he can't stay like this. He pushes out of bed and heads for Jonny's room, knocking at the door and going to his knees.

Jonny's not sleeping. He hasn't slept much for four nights, not that he needs it. One of those characterizations writers manage to hit on. He's not surprised at the knock, since he's been expecting it every night since Eric got to the house.

He opens the door. _On his knees. Intriguing._ "Come in, Eric. No need to crawl."

"Sorry," Eric says softly, coming to his feet. "And I'm sorry it's so late. I couldn't wait anymore."

"First off," Jonny says, turning and walking back to the bed's edge, "don't apologize for going to your knees. Second, don't apologize for the hour." He turns, glances up at Eric, green eyes sparkling brown-gold. "Better yet, stop apologizing altogether, Eric. When you need to be sorry, I'll let you know."

"All right," Eric says softly. Just being near Jonny's helping; it means he can pick one voice out of the chaos. "I don't think I can wait any longer to bleed. And I'm worried about bleeding for you. Last time I ended up fighting it."

"You're right. You should've come in last night. I can hear your blood crying, Eric." Jonny moves quickly to the dresser. "You shouldn't worry about bleeding for me. That's why I'm here." He pulls two pairs of cuffs from the drawer and turns back to Eric. "And I can control your fighting."

Eric doesn't even blink. He nods and slides his t-shirt off over his head. "Where do you need me?"

"Bed. Hands near the headboard rail." Jonny's done this a few times, pets and vampires alike, random encounters. He knows the bed's wrought iron can withstand whatever tugging Eric wants to give it. "I'll just cuff your hands. Won't tie your feet. Don't want you to feel trapped."

"Trap me," Eric urges, taking his pajama pants off and crawling into bed. "I think I need that. Need to know I can't get away."

"Very well. Let's start with your hands." Jonny sits on the bed's edge, takes Eric's wrist and wraps the steel cuff around it, locking it in place and then securing the other side of the cuff around a bed rail. He runs his hand down Eric's arm and over his chest before doing the other arm the same way. "I'll need to get something for your feet."

Eric tugs at the cuffs. Nice. Secure. And if he fights too much, the metal's likely to cut right into his skin. Perfect. "Thank you for this," he murmurs.

Jonny's across the room when Eric's words catch him. "My pleasure," he says over his shoulder. The chains are in the armoire, just long enough to reach the bolts on the bedframe and the ankle cuffs wrap without being too much of a strain. He returns to the bed, secures Eric's feet with the same care he took on Eric's wrists.

 _There._ Now he's safe, secure. He exhales. "Is it going to hurt as much this time as it did the last? I can't feel Sean anymore. I can barely feel the lack of him."

 _That's good. He's losing Sean._ "That feeling will lessen even more as time passes." Jonny climbs onto the bed, navy silk pajamas loose around his body, and settles between Eric's spread legs. He places his hands on Eric's knees and runs his hands up over the thighs. "It will hurt, most likely as much as before. Perhaps a touch different."

Eric swallows. "All right," he murmurs. "I'm as ready as I'll get, I think." It's strange, being so close to bleeding and not being hard enough to have it make him dizzy. "Do you _want_ to bite me?" he asks, realizing for the first time that he honestly doesn't know if Jonny wants him or not.

"I want a great number of things," Jonny Lee says, dipping his head and licking along the inside of Eric's thigh. "Among them biting." He draws his tongue over the femoral artery, its sound scoring his thoughts, the blood already boiling, crying for release.

Eric shudders. Just having Jonny licking him burns, but not as badly as going without the bite. He's bound tightly enough he can't move, though, can't fight. "Thank you," he whispers. "Please."

"Patience, my pet." Jonny continues licking, carefully circling the base of Eric's cock. He wants to show Eric there is pleasure in the pain that's coming, enough to balance out if he allows it. His fingers are on Eric's stomach, stretching up along the edges of the ribs. As his tongue caresses the base of the shaft, demands a response, Jonny sets his nails against human flesh and drags down, scratching deep enough to command forth a rivulet of blood.

Eric whimpers. The combination of pleasure and burn isn't exactly what it was before Sean took him, but it's good all the same. Good enough he's ready for more. "Please," he whispers, " _please_."

Jonny takes meticulous care to not lick up Eric's cock, to keep his tongue to the base, swirling in and out of the wispy black hairs. He blows softly across the shaft's surface and digs deeper with his nails until the blood's trailing down to meet his tongue. Then he tastes Eric, the bitter flood of iron burning his tongue. It's worth it, he thinks, the taste of a would-be lover.

"Oh, God, I can't--" Eric jerks at his cuffs, thrusts his hips up, struggling but trying to push himself closer to Jonny's mouth. "Hurts so much. Please. Please don't stop. I can hear you." The note's ragged, but it's there, and Eric can focus on it.

"Yes, you can," Jonny whispers, glancing up Eric's body as he licks along the blood trail. "Concentrate. When there's nothing but the music and you think you're going insane, then you'll be ready." He draws back, swiping his bloodied tongue over the head of Eric's cock.

" _Ahhh._ " Eric pushes his hips forward again. "Burns. Still burns." But the music's getting stronger, and it's starting to blot out the rest of the chaos. Eric's hands tighten into fists, and he tugs at the cuffs again, letting the pain center him.

Eric doesn't have to tell Jonny it's burning. He can feel it, the blood scorching a path down his throat. He can trace back in his memories, track down the exact moment he felt like this, when Lord Pertwee first fed on him, the Lord Chief Justice snatching him from the gallows and showing him just how much life there was in the night. He knows Eric can hold on, that the music's nowhere near strong enough yet.

Jonny sucks just the tip into his mouth, his fangs teasing at the foreskin's edge. There's a delight in torture like this.

Eric's been with vampires who wanted it to hurt. But he's never felt anything like this, never burned for it and wanted it in equal parts. And he's not sure if he can hold out; his cock's jerking, and his body's aching, and the pain's turning into something that isn't quite pleasure but has him harder than he's ever been. Need. Addiction. He can't tell if he needs to come or bleed.

Jonny sinks a bit lower, taking in nearly half of Eric's cock, swirling his tongue around the shaft as he moves his head down. He's consciously drawing it out, wanting to guarantee Eric's nearly too far gone before he pulls off and bites. The blood's still oozing from Eric's chest wounds, Jonny gouging his fingers into them until his nailbeds are soaked scarlet. _C'mon, pet, just a ways farther. You're tapping into. I can tell._

It's not easy. Not even for a moment. But the rest of the world's gone now, and it's only Jonny's song and Eric's blood and the stinging bite of the cuffs against his wrists. It's enough. "Please, sir. Need to come for you."

That's exactly what Jonny's been waiting for. He pulls back, kissing the tip of Eric's cock and breathing out cool across it. "Focus, Eric, only on the song," Jonny says, "not the pain." He brings his hand down and wraps his fingers around the swollen shaft, holding tight, and then positions his mouth over the femoral. He licks, twice, and then bites, sinking his fangs in deep, cutting straight into the artery, siphoning out the blood in gushes.

 _Searing._ Eric doesn't know how to think of anything _but_ the pain. He struggles with the cuffs, bites at his lower lip until his teeth cut through and he can taste blood. Jonny's song is lost, drowned out by the single note of terrified, burning pain. He belongs to someone else. He's been claimed. _Sean._

But there's another dim sensation underneath the pain, and Eric realizes it's his cock, jerking, pulsing, coming in hard, fast jets and soaking his stomach with it. And Eric reaches for that, clings to the thread of arousal. Finds Jonny in it, and reaches for him. And while the burn doesn't dissipate, it's different somehow. It feels right. He can stand it.

Jonny's throat is scorched with Eric's blood, but he doesn't stop sucking, not until he's positive Eric has nothing more to give, and only then does he let his tongue lap over the wound, work at sealing it. He raises his head and pulls his hand off Eric's cock. It's dripping with white streams and he licks them off, finger by finger, cleaning his hand thoroughly before drawing up Eric's body, licking the remnants of blood off the human's chest.

"Delicious," he murmurs, swiping his tongue over a tight nipple. "Your blood echoes in my veins. I like the noise."

" _Mmm._ " Eric pulls at the cuffs again, but this time it's because he wants to get his arms around Jonny. "Still stings," he mumbles. "Could learn to like it."

"That's the goal," Jonny says. "Don't struggle too much or you'll rub your skin raw before I can get the cuffs off." He slides back down the bed and undoes the ankle cuffs first, then moves up to sit on the bed's edge beside Eric's shoulder. He rubs over Eric's arms, sweat-drenched and tight from pulling against the restraints.

The touches sting, too, but it's a good feeling. Almost electric. Eric sighs and relaxes against the covers, shifting a little as he gets comfortable. _So_ much better. He could sleep now.

Jonny drops the cuffs onto the floor after he undoes Eric's wrists. "You should sleep a bit," he says, "then we'll see about some food. Replenish a bit of what I took."

"Don't need food," Eric mumbles. "But sleep sounds good."

"Then sleep, my pet." Jonny smooths the hair back from Eric's face. He knows Eric will be hungry later, and while he's sleeping, Jonny will go down and fix something.

 _Your pet._ Eric blinks his eyes open. _Yours. Not Sean's anymore._ He reaches up, catches Jonny's hand. He can hear something. Faint, not overwhelming the way it was with Sean, but it's there.

Jonny turns his hand over, twists his wrist and brings Eric's palm to his lips. He kisses it. Soft at the center. _Mine. Forever more._

"Thank you," Eric whispers. "For all of it." His eyes close again. "Will you stay while I fall asleep?"

"Yes. Till you're asleep," Jonny murmurs. "And I'll be here when you wake up."


	12. Overture

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a first time for everything.

It's cold out. Damned cold, and Sean's glad he has a good pair of gloves and a thick coat, even if it's a three-year-old hand-me-down and has been stitched and patched a few times. Lots of other men aren't so lucky, especially men who make their living as servants in some capacity or another. Sean's a groundskeeper, and he likes his job well enough, even though in winter there's precious little for him to do. He's had dalliances with enough stable boys and maids to keep him occupied, but he's also a bit bored of the crowd around Master Eagleswood's estate, so he's out on the street, heading for his favorite pub near the docks.

There's a glint of matchlight from an alley on the way, and Sean glances over. Alleys are good; the right offer from a boy or a girl in an alley can add all sorts of promise to a night. The boy in the alley looks to be about Sean's age, give or take a few years, and he's shivering a little, smoking in the cold. His clothes are patched even more than Sean's are, and Sean wonders if this one could be talked into... well, no harm in asking, anyway. He heads into the alley and rests his hand against the wall, just at the other man's shoulders. "Cold night," he says softly. "Need somewhere to warm up?"

Jonny's down on the docks, looking for food and a bit of fun. He's been at this for near a century, and he knows the game, knows what draws 'em in. So he's left his silk coat at home and taken up the cut of an out-of-luck worker. He looks up at the voice, can make out in the night rough-cut blond hair smoothed back and sparkling green eyes -- like an emerald he'd once stolen -- that glinted of desire.

More than that, he could hear the song. Low, but throbbing, drum beating out Wellington's marches. _Dinner._

"Yessir," he says, sniffling. "Damned cold night. You got a flat?"

"Nowhere near, but there's this pub I go to, they've got rooms upstairs." Sean presses himself closer, thighs rubbing against the other man's -- not quite blatant enough the other couldn't laugh him off or turn him down, but close. "I'm Sean. What's your name?"

"Name's Jonny." There's no reason not to be honest. Sean may or may not need to know it later. "Pub's good. I'm not picky." Blood's blood, no matter where Jonny drinks it. He nudges back into Sean's thigh. "Warm room, maybe a pint."

"Sure. I could arrange that for you." Sean moves even closer. Now or never. "Would you do something friendly for me, if I got you a warm room and a meal and something good to drink?"

"Something friendly? Maybe I could. If the meal's hot." Jonny's grinning. _Blood fresh from your throat._ The song's Mozart. Jonny can place threads of _Requiem_ as the blood boils through Sean's veins. "We can start with getting to the pub."

"Perfect." If there's something off about Jonny's grin, Sean hasn't placed it yet. He leads the way to his pub, slipping his hands into his pockets again and walking a little closer to Jonny than he needs to. He's got no particular urge to small talk; he wants a warm body to fuck, and the sooner they get to the pub, the better.

Jonny's willing to give Sean a bit of latitude, enough rope to hang himself if he likes. He's played the game before. Hasn't had a pet in a few decades, though, and he's ready for another, someone to warm the bed every night instead of occasionally, maybe even be turned after a time. The last, Robert, had refused Jonny's offer and while Jonny's morals were loose and scattered, he wasn't about to turn an unwilling mortal. He'd seen how well that hadn't turned out.

At the pub, Sean gives a nod to the bartender, who flashes him five fingers. Room five, then; Sean reaches out and slings an arm around Jonny's shoulders. "Room first or food first?" he asks. It's a good pub, and Sean's warming up already; the men here are loud and rowdy and some of them are looking as though they ought to be in rooms upstairs already. Sean's fucked boys over tables down here in the bar before, but he'd rather have a bit of privacy.

The chords are sliding into _Lacrimosa_ and Jonny really is hungry, but not for what Sean's thinking. "Room," he says. _I'll eat there._ "We can eat later." He grins, more a cocked quirk of a smile.

 _Better and better,_ Sean thinks, guiding Jonny upstairs. He slips into room number five and shuts the door behind them. The noise is muted and the room is dark; there's moonlight coming in through the window, but the lamp at the side of the bed hasn't been lit, and there's no fireplace, of course. He hopes it won't be too cold. "This all right?" he asks softly.

"It's not very warm, but then I'm sure you can make up for that." Jonny might prefer something a tad more comfortable, but it will do. And if he finds himself in need of leaving a body behind, it's actually perfect.

"Yeah," Sean grins, "think we can do something about the cold." He bites at the fingertip of his glove, yanking it off, followed by the other. Both are thrust into coat pockets, and then he strips off his coat and hangs it on the hook at the back of the door. Stripping off when the room is cold never seems like the smartest idea, but there's a bed and it's got blankets, and Sean knows the owner does his best to keep out bedbugs and lice. "Go on and get into bed," he says, leaning down to unlace his boots and slip them off. "I'll join in a moment."

Jonny removes his coat and sets to work on other clothes. The bloodlust is simmering, demanding to be heard, obeyed. He tamps it back, swiping his tongue over the edge of his fang,drawing enough blood to moisten his tongue. Soon. He's stripped quickly and climbs into bed. _Silly human. You have no idea._

This has been Sean's easiest mark in weeks. He doesn't even have to push for it. He grins as he strips down, catching a glimpse of a tattoo on Jonny's chest -- _pretty_ \-- and then climbs into bed, too, pushing Jonny onto his back and settling down on him. "How do you like it?" he whispers.

"Hard. Rough." Jonny chuckles, holds back baring his fangs intentionally. He'll play the human's game a bit longer, let Sean think he's in charge. He's curious just how far the man will push. "Don't hold back."

Sean grins, using his knee to spread Jonny's thighs apart. "Just the way I like it," he murmurs. Settling in between Jonny's legs is very pleasant indeed, and they're both starting to warm up. Cold thighs against cold thighs, still, but the friction ought to make it better soon.

He dips his head down, licks over Jonny's shoulder and starts leaving soft little bites from shoulder to neck. "Like biting?" he murmurs.

Nice move. Commanding. The human's trying to take control, and it amuses the vampire to no end. A little longer, Jonny thinks, and he'll have to set the human straight on what's going to happen tonight. But first a little more play.

"Oh, I love biting. It's one of my favorite pastimes." Jonny slides his hands around the back of Sean's neck, locking his fingers together. "But surely you can bite harder than that, Sean," he says, dragging out the name until the sound ends with a flick of his tongue over Sean's throat.

"Mm-hm..." Sean grins, digs his teeth in harder, enough to bruise --though it looks as if Jonny's skin is tougher than Sean thought; he's not bruising very badly. "How hard do you like being bitten?" he whispers, licking over the indentations left by his teeth. "Hard enough to mark?" He licks up Jonny's neck, trails his tongue around the shell of Jonny's ear. "Hard enough to bleed?"

"Hard enough to bleed? That might be difficult." Jonny squeezes at the base of Sean's neck, fingers closing in until he knows it has to be hurting. "Hard enough to mark would be good. Why don't you try that?" He pulls his head up, whispers against Sean's ear. "And then I get a chance."

"Oh, you bite back." Sean grins, moving down so he can bite at Jonny's chest. "I like that." Jonny's not warming up as fast as Sean is, but that's all right; Sean's pretty sure that by the time he's done rubbing Jonny's skin and licking him and biting him, Jonny'll be every bit as hot as Sean is.

He sinks his teeth into Jonny's chest, biting hard, trying to bruise, growling all the way.

Jonny moans, letting out a long breath as Sean's teeth sink in, try so hard to bruise and mascerate. "Oh, that feels nice. Such a good boy." He moves his hands to Sean's shoulders, pushing up, maneuvering quickly until he has the proper leverage. Before the human can react, the vampire's on top, straddling him.

"Very, very nice, Sean," Jonny purrs, "but not good enough." He leans down, stretching from the waist, licking over Sean's throat for a moment, sliding fang tips over the flesh. "Do you believe in vampires, Sean?"

Sean's eyes widen. He's heard stories, but they're all in pulp magazines, and he's never -- he didn't -- _my God._ "No," he whispers, inanely, because what's the man on top of him if not _precisely_ that?

"That's a shame, because we believe in humans." Jonny bites into Sean's neck, fang slicing through the artery, drawing forth a fountain of blood. It singes his tongue, scorches the roof of his mouth, sears as it works down his throat. _Oh, god, he's perfect._ The song's Mozart at its crescendo, rich and mournful and holding such promise of beautiful death.

Sean's supposed to be terrified. He's supposed to be struggling, trying to get away, calling for help. But the feel of Jonny's fang piercing his skin is better than any sex Sean's ever had, and it's as if he can feel his blood calling to Jonny, _wanting_ to be given up. Sean barely manages to pant for breath, and he clutches at Jonny, holding him tight. _Don't stop. Don't stop._

The lack of fight surprises Jonny. For a moment, he wonders if he's happened upon an addict. He drinks a bit more. No, the blood's not acrid, not ashen. It's sweet, treacle over lavendar flowers. Pure heaven. It's almost a shame it won't last longer. Sean'll be near-drained, to the point of passing out, in another few minutes. Then the vampire will wait until the human revives and he'll do it again.

It's beautiful and easy and lazy, and if Sean's getting colder he doesn't even notice. He's too euphoric, riding on the new sensations, and he keeps clinging to Jonny even when his eyes are starting to close.

Jonny stops when he feels Sean's blood stop flowing, when the heart barely beats. He pulls back, licking his lips. "You'll sleep now," he says, knowing Sean can still hear him. Even if he thinks it's a dream. "And when you wake, you're mine."

There's no reason to dress. The cold doesn't affect Jonny. Not as it would a human. He welcomes the chill, how the night air's tendrils ice down his blood, quench the fire siphoned from Sean's veins. He edges back to the end of the bed and perches. Jonny's listening to the song. He closes his eyes, conducts the symphony playing out the reverent tones of Benedictus.

"Divine creation, that which is man," he murmurs, watching Sean sleep. "I can hear your blood singing, mortal. Have you ever listened to it? The chords are dissosantly harmonious. Every note cries out of need you can't satisfy, of desire you can't quelch."

The faint sound of Jonny's voice isn't enough to cut through Sean's sleep. What's unusual about it -- what Jonny can't know, and Sean wouldn't have thought to tell him -- is how quiet Sean is. How easy it is, sleeping this way, and how fitful his nights have always been. Sean's given to insomnia, often leaving his rooms simply because he can't stand being awake in the dark for long, and this is the first time in a long time his sleep has come without a fight.

"You sleep like the dead," Jonny muses, "if the dead slept. They don't, though. Not really. The dead walk, haunt. You," he says, moving from his perch, kneeling between Sean's legs and placing his hands on the cool calves, "sleep, not knowing what it is you'll awaken to. If you awaken." Jonny slides his fingers up, tracing the pattern of veins he can feel but not see, over and around the curve of knee and splays them over thighs. Firm, solid thighs. A workman's body under his hands. "I can hear your heart start to beat again. The blood's finding its way back to the recesses of your body, tugging you back to life." He dips his head, licks along the crease where leg joins torso, less interested in the cock that brushes his cheek, demanding attention, than the triadic chord of Sean's blood pounding under his tongue.

The motion's enough to get Sean's attention, to make him shift restlessly and wander back up from sleep. He blinks down at Jonny, reaching for him, brushing his hair back from his face. _Can't be happening. Dreaming._ "What happened?" he murmurs. "Did I fall asleep on you?"

"What do you remember?" Jonny licks a path back to the center of Sean's stomach, swirling his tongue around the navel, dipping into the crevice.

"Teeth," Sean whispers, "biting." He drags a fingertip down Jonny's face. "Things that can't be real."

"And if they are?" Jonny continues licking, up along the center of Sean's chest, sliding himself up Sean's body as he pulls his tongue across the pert nipple. Then he opens his mouth enough to expose fang, let the tip nudge the flesh. "Should I bite you again?" he asks, glancing up.

"I don't know," Sean whispers. "What happens if you keep biting me? I've heard stories..."

"Let's see." Jonny bites, hard, quick, into the skin above the nipple, sucking until his mouth is full and his tongue bathed in blood. Then he pulls back, swallows and licks the remnants from the corner of his mouth.

And just like that Sean's hard again, hissing for breath and jerking under Jonny's teeth. " _Christ._ " It hurts, but so beautifully -- he squirms under Jonny and raises both eyebrows. "I... more?" he murmurs.

"More? You like the pain?" Jonny licks over the wound, then bites an inch away from it toward Sean's throat. Then another. And another. Jonny keeps biting, sinking his fangs in and drawing blood until he's made a dozen small bites, the last under Sean's ear. "Tell me, human, what is it you're feeling? So you hear the song?" Jonny's dizzy. "It's a choir of demons beckoning Lucifer to jump."

"Is that what I'm hearing?" Sean asks. He turns his head so Jonny can bite all he wants. He doesn't know what to make of it yet; it's low, humming, simmering under his skin.

"Yes, it's your blood." Jonny licks along the trail he's created. "All humans sing, some louder than others. Yours is deafening." His cock is hard and he's rubbing it against Sean's thigh. "It tastes sweet." He bites into Sean's throat, fang striking the artery's edge, pulling out the richest blood. _Christ, I will succumb to this._

"God. Need--" Sean clutches at Jonny, nails sinking into Jonny's skin. "Don't know what I need. Don't stop. It's getting louder." And it is; every second Jonny touches him, the song's getting louder, more urgent. " _Fuck._ "

The blood's boiling into Jonny throat. Too hot. Parching. Not that he minds. It feels better than anything he's had in years. He sucks until there's nothing but the song, its chords blending in one on the other. _I know exactly what you need._ He snakes his hand down, pushes it between their bodies, presses the heel of it into Sean's cock.

"Oh God oh God oh Christ--" Sean digs his hands into the covers, bites his lip through, but it doesn't do any good. He comes like a teenager, fast and uncontrollable, jerking under Jonny's hand and blushing crimson. "Fuck," he mumbles, "so sorry."

Jonny pulls back, licking the wounds and then bringing his hand up and licking his fingers. "Why? It's what you wanted. What I wanted." He moves, shifts up, straddles the human, his cock jerking against Sean's stomach. "Release just makes your blood sweeter." He finishes cleaning off his hand, semen mixing with blood on his tongue, tantalizing every tastebud. "The song's dissipating, I imagine. It'll do that, swell to crescendo every time I take that much blood, bring you to the point your body can't control itself."

"I don't know what's happening to me." Sean runs his hands up Jonny's back, pulls him close. "Am I sleeping or waking? The sound of it --it's getting quieter." He shivers, rubs up against Jonny and feels another tremor run through his body. _Don't go._ "Stay?" he whispers. "Please. Until tomorrow, at least."

"You are awake. You are not dead. You are not dreaming." Jonny lets himself be pulled down, covering Sean's body with his, conscious that he's the warmer of the two of them at the moment, Sean depleted of blood. "I won't go anywhere," he says, _except to call a cab and take you home_ "and I will be with you tomorrow." _And all the tomorrows after that, my pet._

Sean nuzzles against Jonny's neck. "Why me?" he whispers. He's fading again, coming closer and closer to sleep, and he doesn't want to be. It's too soon, and he has too many questions. "Why me, out of everyone who must have asked..."

"Because your blood played Requiem in my brain, it sang to me of Masses and benedictions." Jonny tugs at the blanket's edge, pulls it up and over Sean's side. "I'll explain everything. Tomorrow." Jonny isn't sure how he'll do that. He doesn't understand completely the _everything_ he needs to explain. He just knows Sean tastes like no one he's ever had, and he likes the taste and he doesn't plan on giving it up.

It's an answer like all the answer's he's gotten tonight, one that leaves him with still more questions. But it doesn't really matter. Jonny's staying. Sean wants him to stay and he's staying. And for tonight, that's enough.


	13. Syncopation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another flashback: Jonny brings Sean home.

It's not as difficult as one might suspect, moving a body in the night. Jonny secures the services of two able-bodied men, cost of a few quid apiece, and sends a boy to fetch him a carriage. He's sure Sean will stay sleeping; the human's blood loss alone will ensure it. It's a short ride to Lord Pertwee's home, just on the outskirts of London. Getting the body inside without having to deal with the family is less difficult than he suspected. Jude and Helena are rather preoccupied with a game of mortal chess in the ballroom, and Father's nowhere in sight.

Then it's a matter of waiting, sitting in the chair by the window, not sleeping, watching the mortal's breath slip in and out of his lungs. Jonny closes his eyes as the sun starts to creep into the sky, lets the music of Sean's blood wash over him, caress his veins. "You will last forever," he murmurs. "And when I turn you, you'll still be mine. Always."

This isn't the pub. Sean can tell that before he even gets his eyes open. It's not the pub, and it's not the bed he went to sleep in. He reaches up to rub at his neck, finally groaning and opening his eyes; nothing hurts, but there's a ghost of sensation -- a feeling -- _something_.

And someone's watching him. He sits up with a gasped breath and looks around, eyes fixing on Jonny. "What -- you--" He pauses. "Where am I?"

"Good morning, pet." Jonny leans forward from the shadows. "How observant of you. What else do you sense?"

"I don't know..." Sean frowns, closes his eyes. There's something in the distance. Music? Is someone playing music in the house somewhere? "I hear something..." _Pet._ And Jonny melding with the shadows like he belongs there. "What happened to me last night?"

"You had a unique experience. You might want to eat a bit." Jonny motions to the tray of fruits he'd had brought up. 'The oranges would be particularly helpful.'

He hadn't been awake long enough to think about it, but as soon as food's on offer Sean realizes how hungry he is. He takes an orange and starts peeling it, looking up at Jonny between getting bits of rind free. "Where am I?" he asks.

"My house." Jonny grins. "Or rather, my Father's house." _Good boy. Oranges will help your blood, strengthen its music._ "Outskirts of London."

"All right," Sean says quietly. "What do you want with me here?" He separates one bit of orange from the rest and starts eating.

"This is where you're going to live." Jonny's suddenly at the bed's edge, his movement faster than Sean can take in, and he reaches out, rubs his finger over the orange, pulling it back to his lips and sucking the juice off. "Or at least where you'll spend most of your time. You'll find it's quite nice."

"Live. Here?" Sean frowns, even though he's distracted by the sight of Jonathan's fingertip disappearing past his lips. _Were those fangs? Were those really fangs?_ "I have a job. I have a place."

"You _had_ a life. Now you have another one." Jonny leans in, presses his nose into the hollow of Sean's throat, forcing Sean to tilt his head back, and takes a deep breath. Such a wonderful scent. Human blood. And its song is sinful. "You can keep your job, if it amuses you," he whispers, "but I imagine you'll find you have much less energy for it."

"You'd -- keep me?" Sean asks softly, reaching up and stroking Jonny's hair. "I don't understand. Don't understand any of this. Are you going to bite me again?"

Jonny cocks his head, grins, baring his fangs. "Yes, I'm going to bite you." He's purring the words. "Do you understand now, Sean?"

Sean doesn't, but he doesn't give a damn. He spreads his legs and wraps his arms around Jonny. "Please," he whispers. What all this means doesn't matter. He just wants to feel Jonny's teeth again.

"So eager. Such a whore." Jonny bites, the sharp point of his canines sinking into Sean's throat. The music swells as the blood oozes from the wound, fills his mouth.

The music's nearly deafening, taking Sean over and making him rock up even harder against Jonny. Everything feels so good, _so good_ , and Sean's eyes slide shut as he loses himself to Jonny's fangs and the harsh pull of his lips and tongue.

Jonny takes as much as he can, or rather as much as is safe, until he hears the counterpoint in the beat, Sean's blood crying out as the heart demands its share. He pulls back, licking the wound, sucking the last trace of blood, slowly kissing from throat to mouth. "Do you grasp your new reality now, pet?" Jonny slides his tongue across Sean's lips. "You're mine."

Sean digs his fingers into Jonny's arms, shivering. There's something terrifying about the compulsion, a compulsion he can feel and couldn't begin to fight. There's something even more frightening about how good it feels, how much he wants it. Nothing's ever felt this good before. Nothing.

"You want it, but you don't understand what it is you want. That's the craving, Sean, your blood screaming out for me." Jonny moves his hand to cover Sean's, pulls the human's fingers from his arm. "Your body is crying for release. Feel it?"

"Yes." Sean knows that part, at least, the lust so intense he can feel it in his blood. "Yes, I can feel it. It's darker than it was without you. Is it always dark like this?"

"Darker. I'm not sure I've heard it described that way, but I suppose that's accurate." Jonny pushes Sean back until he's prone again, head on the pillow. He licks down over Sean's chest, tongue sliding over nipple. "Close your eyes, succumb to the darkness."

All Sean can hear is his heartbeat, a slow, solid rhythm that seems to start everywhere at once, something that picks up the more Jonny touches him, with every flick of his tongue. He closes his eyes and lets his hands relax against the covers. "Yes," he whispers. "Please. _Please._ "

"It's comforting." Jonny licks lower, across the flat of Sean's stomach. "The darkness. The void." Slips his tongue down into the heavy curl of hair. "The music. It fills the night." Then along the base of the cock, up along its length. "Listen to it." Jonny takes the tip in his lips, sucks lightly.

Drumbeats, and something under them, something coming up from the darkness. Low humming strings, like something Sean heard coming from the master's house one night, almost haunting. He doesn't even know what instrument that was. He can hear it all over again, though, something almost soothing. And it's beautiful. He groans when Jonny's mouth closes over his cock, but doesn't reach up for Jonny's head the way he would have with another man. He knows he's not in control anymore.

 _That's right. You're not in control. You just realized that._ Jonny sucks harder as he sinks down, the edge of his fangs nicking flesh, calling forth a drop of blood. It's what he needs to send him over, renew the song, let it build to crescendo again. _Enjoy, my pet. Come for me. Listen to the music and lose everything you were._

Nothing except this matters. Nothing except this exists. Sean groans and comes, sinking more deeply into the bed, into his pillows. "Bloody hell..."

Jonny laps up the spill. Tinged with blood, it's even better. He pushes up on his hands, grins. "I'll have Charles draw you a bath, and we'll get you cleaned up."

Sean nods, out of energy and willing to do anything Jonny asks. "Thank you," he whispers.

"You're welcome," Jonny murmurs. It's a nice sentiment, but Jonny doubts it'll last. Another couple days and Sean will be cursing him, the bloodlust swelling, the need growing.

Maybe. But right now the bath sounds good, and Sean lifts his hand, rubbing at the bite on his throat. He nods again and closes his eyes. He'll move when he has to.

Jonny pushes up until he's sitting on the bed's edge. "I'll be back in a few minutes. Sleep while you can, Sean." He stands up and quickly moves to the door and out of the room to find the servants.


	14. Rubato

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another flashback; picks up directly from [Overture](http://www.livejournal.com/users/helens78/246954.html) and [Syncopation](http://www.livejournal.com/users/helens78/261141.html). This has been finished for a month... *grovels at [](http://lunasv.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://lunasv.livejournal.com/)**lunasv** 's feet for not getting it posted sooner*

Sean's in the bath when Jonny comes into the room. He'd been delayed by siblings wanting time and attention and having questions. He moves quietly, standing just inside the door, watching his human. The blood hasn't stopped singing. It's tone is low now, but deep and rich. "I'm glad to see you let Charles attend to you." Jonny walks across the room, crouches beside the tub. "He's bringing you some clothes?"

"Yes," Sean says, and he's got the oddest urge to add _sir_ or _master_ to the end of that. "I'm feeling stronger." He glances down at his body in the water, shaking his head and grinning sheepishly. "I haven't been able to get hard like this since I were a teenager. It's half embarrassing."

"Good. For feeling stronger, that is." Jonny pushes his sleeve up and reaches over the tub's edge, scooping water up and splashing it over Sean's arm. "The other is natural for what you're experiencing." He remembers those first nights with Father, how he thought he'd be hard forever. Nearly was. "It shouldn't be embarrassing. I assure you no one in this house will think that."

Sean blushes anyway. "But they know about -- about you, about me, the biting...?" He leans forward, kisses Jonny's arm. "They know I can't... can't help feeling like this?"

"Yes, they know." _They can hear your blood singing through the walls._ "They've experienced the same feelings. We all have." Jonny rubs his hand through Sean's hair. "The feeling will level out over time."

"How long?" Sean rubs up against Jonny's hand. Just the light touch feels good. Scary, intense, but good.

"It's different for each of us. Time becomes something that doesn't matter anymore, Sean. Just relax." Jonny strokes a bit more, letting his fingers rub over flesh. "Tell me about your life, where you were before you found me."

"Hadn't done much." Sean shrugs. "I keep grounds out in the country, go to pubs..." He grins. "I always did like a bit of rough with it, but never thought about -- about vampires." There. He can say it. They really do exist, amazing as that is.

"I wondered how long it'd take you to say the word." Jonny's smile bares the hint of fang. "Yes, I am a vampire. Most everyone in the house is one. You can meet them all later today." He pauses, thinks. "I suppose you could continue keeping grounds, if you wanted to, if the estate's nearby."

Sean flinches. He doesn't want to be out of the same room with Jonny right now, let alone as far away as the grounds he used to keep. "I don't want to leave here right now," he murmurs. "Can I stay?"

"You misunderstand, Sean. You're not going anywhere today. For some time." Jonny leans over, kisses Sean's shoulder, licking away the drops of moisture. "I'll have someone take word to the estate, explain everything."

"All right." Sean turns into Jonny's touch, nuzzles at his cheek. "Do you have many like me?" _For biting._

"Like you? No." Jonny smiles. Sean's touch is as addictive as his song. "Not exactly. You're the first human I've taken in some time."

Sean likes that. He doesn't know why he should, but he likes it. "So... what do I do here?" he asks. "What's my job now?"

"Your job? Hmm, you want to do something other than bleed for me, warm my bed through the night, stay by my side all day?"

"No," Sean whispers, "not really." And something in his chest aches as he says it, as he realizes how true it is. This isn't a joke, isn't something he's only playing at. He's Jonny's pet now, and if there were things he wanted before, none of them matter. _It's all happening so fast._ He brings his arms out from the tub and reaches out, turning and twisting so he can touch Jonny, bury his face against Jonny's skin and hope the ache in his chest subsides. _It's all right. It's all right as long as you're touching him._

The touch startles, brief and hurried, too familiar. Robert touched like that, those first days, when they couldn't get enough of each other, and in those last days, when Jonny was begging him to take the change, to not die. It'd taken a century to recover, a hundred years to find another. Sean. Jonny pulls back, stands up and strips off what clothes he'd tugged on to walk around the house.

"Good," he says, stepping into the tub. It's big, barely so for two, but he doesn't care if it's crowded, if the water's sluicing over the edges. "I want you there. All the time."

"Then that's sorted," Sean declares, shifting off his end of the tub so he can make room for himself between Jonny's legs. He goes quiet again, another question coming to mind. "Will others want to bite me?"

"Want?" Jonny reaches out, rubs his hands over Sean's thighs. "I imagine Helena will find you enticing. Whether or not you allow her to bite you is up to you." He slips his fingers through the water, drawing back with nails extended, raking and scratching, drawing faint lines of blood. "And me. The only one in the house allowed to bite without my permission is Father, and that's only ritual."

"Father?" Sean repeats, squirming and arching against Jonny, feeling like he could purr. "Your father's like you?"

"He turned me, so he's my vampire father. Helena and Jude's, too." Jonny continues moving his hands until his thumbs are slipping under Sean's cock, nudging into the water and pushing up from underneath. "We are a family of vampires, and now you're part of us." He smiles. "You like that?"

"What you're doing with your hands or what you've said about--" Sean swallows. "About me. As part of your family." He can't tell, and he's not sure he'd know the answer to the latter. But he likes the way Jonny's touching him. There's no doubt about that.

"Any." Jonny doesn't break his gaze from Sean's faces, staring at the green reflected back at him. He strokes his thumbs back over the swelling flesh, base to head, and then he's wrapping fingers around it, rubbing against the foreskin. "All. Every bit of it."

"Oh -- God," Sean pants, voice breaking midway through the words. "God, you feel -- you -- nothing's ever felt like this." He groans. "It's never been so good, please, _more_..."

"Even if I do this?" Jonny grips a bit tighter, twists his wrist, ratcheting up the pain a bit. "Where's your threshold, Sean? How far can I take you?"

Sean cries out, but doesn't try to pull away. Even pain feels good with Jonny. He'd take anything. He doesn't know where his limits are; no one's ever tried to test them. He groans, nods, pants softly until he can get words out. "Please, just more, just _please_. Need you so much. _Anything._ "

Jonny doesn't understand the chemical process. He leaves that to Jude. But he knows when the song starts, when Sean's blood cries out for him. His eyes grow darker, their green turning almost black, and he pushes his fist down Sean's cock, then jerks it back up, pulling his hand off and into the air. "Want you," he whispers. "Need you just as much." There's a second of lucidity, and Jonny realizes he'll have to explain that at some point. Later. After. When he's sated. "Up. Turn around. Over the edge. Have to be inside you."

"Yes, oh God, please," Sean groans, getting up with a splash and moving to the edge of the tub. "Need you so much."

Jonny wastes no time in kneeling up behind Sean. He slices his nail down the center of Sean's back, drawing the blood that sluices into the cleft, mingling with water droplets as Jonny works his cock into Sean's tight hole. Blood and water do not make the passage easy, but it's enough, and the friction burns from around Jonny's cock into his spine and up to his brain, carrying on its tingling the music Jonny is coming to recognize as Sean's. Mozart in a hundred variations coiling into his mind.

It's pointless whimpering or wincing, complaining about the pain in even the smallest ways. Sean wants it, and his body knows he wants it, and every time Jonny takes him it's going to be easier. Is that because he's a pet? He doesn't know. Doesn't care. All he cares about now is bleeding for Jonny, and taking as much pleasure as he can from being fucked and torn open and scored with red lines.

Jonny licks and sucks at the trail of blood on Sean's back. He doesn't think he's ever tasted this good before. _Not even Robert?_ He grins, digs his fangs into the flesh under Sean's shoulder blade, draws forth a pool of blood. It coats his tongue, swirls under and is absorbed, competing the loop from cock to brain to heart.

Sean shudders hard, trying not to press back against Jonny's fangs, not wanting to appear that desperate. He is, though. Every nerve in his body's on fire, and the only thing keeping him from going insane is the slow rush of blood into Jonny's mouth, the connection that's making his heart beat in time with Jonny's. He can't tell what's more erotic -- the feel of tongue against broken skin or cock in arse. Both. One without the other would feel lacking now.

The blood sings, crescendoes into a blend of strings and brass. Forte and andante and it echoes in Jonny's ears. He knows Sean can't hear it, knows his mortal will come to understand how the symphony orchestrates their lives, how the music swells in the blood until there is nothing but lust. He sucks until there is almost nothing and he's drawing from veins unwilling to yield more. Then he comes, cock throbbing in his push deeper into Sean's body, driving until there is no resistance. "Let go," he whispers. "I have you."

Whether it's a good idea to trust Jonny as much as he does or not, Sean's got no choice with it. He's Jonny's now, and the soft urge to _let go_ is an order Sean's body can't refuse. He gasps softly as he comes, body shaking, and he can't stop shaking when he's done, doesn't feel like he could get close enough to Jonny. "Oh God --please..."

"Shhh. Calm, Sean." Jonny pulls his wrist to his mouth and bites, opening a vein. He reaches around and presses it to Sean's lips. "Drink. It will help." He holds tight, body almost melded to his human lover.

Instinct takes over and Sean licks at Jonny's wrist, taking his blood back, groaning softly as hunger replaces instinct and he finds himself wanting more. It's a different sort of craving, this, the need to taste his blood after Jonny's veins have altered it. It's a new addiction, one among many, and he can't let himself think about it that way. He doesn't want to think about how many ways he's addicted to Jonny.

Jonny lets Sean suck until he can feel the tug on his heart. Then he pulls his wrist away. "Enough. Too much and it becomes bitter." He kneels back, pulling his cock from Sean's arse, sluicing his hand through the water and dripping it over Sean's back. "We'll finish our bath now and get you dressed. You must meet Father soon."

The idea worries Sean a bit, but he swallows and nods, leaning down to rinse his lips. The water comes away bloodstained, and somehow that's not as frightening as it ought to be. "It's all different now, isn't it?" he murmurs. "Everything's different."

"Yes," Jonny whispers, continuing to cup water in his hand and pour it over his lover's body. "Nothing is the same, but I'm here and I'll walk you through your new life and I won't ever leave you."

It's enough. More than enough, and Sean nods again and lets Jonny care for him. "Thank you," he whispers.


End file.
